


Momento Mori

by ThatWritingHo



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Bisexual Characters, Bondage, Canon-Typical Debauchery, Canon-Typical Violence, Clothed Sex, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Discussion of Death, Dom/sub, Drug Use, Drunk Sex, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, Femdom, Foot Fetish, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gangbang, Graphic Description of Corpses, Gun Violence, Heavy Drinking, High Sex, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Torture, Knifeplay, M/M, Master/Pet, Masturbation, Medical Procedures, Mental Health Issues, Morally Ambiguous Character, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Murder, OC-centric, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgy, Overstimulation, Past Child Abuse, Polyamory, Praise Kink, References to Depression, Reverse Harem, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Sexually Promiscuous Characters, Shameless Smut, Sixsome, Size Kink, Suit Kink, Threesome, Trans Male Character, Voyeurism, medical gore, pansexual characters, trans!pickles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-01-05 14:31:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18367955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatWritingHo/pseuds/ThatWritingHo
Summary: Dethklok's health is not something to be taken lightly, and so Charles, being the good CFO that he is, convinces the band they need a full-time, ever present doctor at their disposal.Olive Axworthy was just trying to live her life, working in the morgue and staying as far away from her eccentric family as possible, but when opportunity comes a knockin, she can't resist dropping it all for the chance to work so closely with her favorite band.The Inner Fangirl always wins.Reverse Dethklok Harem, OC-centric, main end pairing will be Pickles/OC, but let's have some fun along the way ;)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There's a serious lack of OC fics in this fandom, so here's my contribution.

Charles Foster Offdensen was a man who was devoted to his work. His main job was to keep the members of Dethklok safe and healthy, which is why he had called this meeting today.

Yes, his job was to keep them safe and healthy, whether they liked it or not.

And he was sure they were not going to like this.

Taking a deep breath, he cast a glance to each member, all in various states of distraction, with little regard for whatever it was he had to say, as per usual. He cleared his throat and prepared himself for the push back he was going to get. But it was for the best, for their safety and prolonged health, so he would grit his teeth and argue his point until they agreed.

“Alright, gentleman, given the, ah, recent events,” his eyes flashed over to Nathan, who had only recently recovered from his liver transplant, “I think it would be prudent to, ah, be more aware and prepared as far as each of your health is concerned.”

“So you, uh.. want us to to like, get more checkups and stuff?”

“Well, yes, Nathan, but ah, I was thinking something a bit more drastic than that is necessary.”

He took another deep breath, bracing himself for their complaints.

“It would be in all of your best interests if we were to have a, ah, doctor with you. At all times.”

Five pair of eyes shot to him in disbelief, mouths dropping and brows furrowing in confusion and growing anger.

“A doctor! For fucksh shakesch”

“Followin us all deh time? Like a damn babysitter or somthin?”

“We donts needs that!”

“Ja, we donts needs no babysitters like some small tiny babies what’s cant takes care of himselves!”

Charles closed his eyes, taking another breath.

“Look, I know you guys don’t think its necessary, but what if something were to happen to one of you, like what happened to Nathan, and you were somewhere where you couldn’t see a doctor immediately? What if one of you were to suffer serious bodily damage and end up unable to play? It’s best for us to play on the safe side of things.”

They were all giving him sceptical looks, and seemed ready to burst into more protests.

“I’ll let you pick who it is, and you won’t even know they’re there. You’ll be free to continue doing whatever you want, I’ll make sure they just stay on the sidelines and monitor, only interfering if its absolute necessary. Can you all at least agree to try it for a while?”

He was met with various grunts and groans, until Nathan spoke up.

“Fine, but it can’t be some regular jack off like our other doctors. Someone really badass. Like uh, what are those people called? The ones who cut open dead people? And like pull out all their organs and stuff?”

Charles sighed.

“You mean a mortician? You want someone who works on corpses to be your primary care doctor?”

“Yeh, that’d be preetty sweet” Pickles chimed in. “Someone that’s not gonna be a douche bag aboot, ya know, drinking and drugs and stuff too. They gotta be cool.”

“Ya, can we gets a pretties ladys doctor whats cans take cares of us?” Toki stared off dreamily at the thought.

“Yeah! If we have to have schomeone around all the time, it can at leascht be a hot babe!” Murderface exclaimed, and the rest of the group piped in their approval. “And schesch gotta have a good schensche of humor too!”

“Ja, someone whats cans makes us laughs and whos cans pals around withs us,” Skwisgaar agreed, fingers never ceasing gliding over his guitar.

“Alright, let me get this straight,” Charles couldn’t let the conversation diverge any further into the land of ridiculous requests, “you want me to find a, ah, attractive, funny, cool, female mortician? One who is qualified and capable of taking care of all five of you and your medical needs at all times? You do realize how unlikely it is that a person like that exists?”

“Well, you heard us. That’s, uh.. that’s what we want. If you can’t find us someone who meets our, uh, requirements, you can forget about this whole stupid thing.”

Nathan’s words were said with a sense of finality, and Charles knew there was no way around it. If this is what it took, he would do his damndest to make it happen, to make Dethklok happy.

“Very well. I’ll look into it.”

He’d find a way. He always did.

.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

Charles took a sip of his bourbon, eyes scanning the monitor in front of him, nearly in disbelief at his discovery. There actually did exist a person who met Dethklok’s ridiculous qualifications for a personal doctor, at least on paper. She looked promising, very promising, and he read over her file once more.

Born as a twin to a Mexican mother and Korean father, the first few years of her life seemed to be normal, until tragedy had struck in the form of a terrible house fire, leaving only her and her sister as survivors. They spent the next two years bouncing around to different foster homes, and had eventually been adopted by the illustrious billionaire Alastair Axworthy, the very Alastair Axworthy who’s breakthroughs in the field of robotic prosthetics and androids had made possible Dick Knubbler’s eye replacements and Dr. Twinkletits’ new arms.

Charles had never met the man, but had heard he was eccentric to a fault, and it was rumored he adopted only the most intelligent children he could find, almost as more of a collection than out of a sense of philanthropy. From the looks of the rest of her file, she was no exception. Winner of the World Junior Chess Championship at only 11 years old, perfect scores across the board on all standardized tests, valedictorian of her graduating class of which she was the youngest at only 16, fluent in Spanish, Korean, Japanese, French, and German, holder of a Mensa card.

She had attended Columbia University’s Vagelos College of Physicians and Surgeons, and speed tracked her courses there, graduating with full honors in half the time of a typical student. After that, there was little information on her until she began working in the morgue at a rather unremarkable hospital in New York City. It was intriguing, that drop in ambition, and Charles hoped to capitalize on that, knowing anyone would jump at the chance to work for Dethklok, but especially if there was as sizable a pay difference as there would be for her.

Scrolling further down, he glanced over her criminal record; underage drinking, a couple DUIs, a marijuana charge. Normally these would turn him off to a potential employee, but in this case, it was a bonus. Hopefully this meant she could better handle the parties and excessive drug use and drinking episodes the band would no doubt drag her along on.

And lastly, her picture. She was young still, at least by doctor standards, at only 27 years old, and fairly pretty. Tan skin, round face, dark eyes, pouty lips, multiple piercings in her visible ear, and hair styled into a long, curly, pastel pink mohawk.

“Olive Axworthy…” Charles took another sip of his bourbon, “I can’t wait to meet you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Setting up a meeting with Olive Axworthy was proving to be much more of a challenge than Charles had expected. She had rejected all of his phone calls by the third ring, and was ignoring any letters sent by mail. At this point, he wouldn't be surprised if she was throwing them out unopened. No one in their right mind would willing turn down working for Dethklok, especially in such close proximity to the members as she would be, so she must not have listened to his voicemails or read any of the invitations for an interview at all.

Her evasion had put a wrench in his plans, any other credible doctor he could have hired and had on the job a week ago.

Charles sighed as another attempted phone call went to voicemail. That settles it then. He'd just have to go in person.

.

It had been a long, hard day for Olive. The coworker scheduled to come in as her replacement had called in, something about his kid having the flu, and there had been a rather large pileup on the interstate leaving quite a few dead, so what should have been a typical 8 hour shift in the morgue had turned into a 14 hour shift as she was the only one there.

To top it off, she had been getting calls from an unidentified phone number at least twice a day for the past week, leaving her voicemails she hadn't got around to listening to, and she was pretty sure the same one responsible for the calls was the one sending her a letter in the mail from an undisclosed address every single day.

And now, she was being followed.

A large, beefy man in all black had been tailing her for the past two days everywhere she went, and it was really starting to piss her off. Couldn't these fuckers get the hint that she wasnt interested in whatever they wanted to use her for?

The next phone call she received, she would answer and give them a piece of her mind.

Organizations, societies, various private interest groups, and wealthy assholes all with questionable agendas frequently sought her out, seeing her as an easy acquisition what with her current employer. They expected her to pounce at the opportunity to work for somewhere "more esteemed" as they liked to put it.

But time and again, she had shot down all offers. Didn't they realize that if she wanted to work for someone like that, she would use the connections she already had?

Idiots, all of them.

They hadn't all taken 'no' as an answer, but none had been quite so persistent as this current pursuer.

With one last glance over her shoulder, she quickly unlocked the door to her building, nearly running face first into her elderly neighbor, Mrs. Baker.

"Whoah there, honey, keep your eyes forward when you walk!"

Olive placed a hand over her racing heart, giving the widow an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, sorry. Just had a long day, thought I saw someone I knew out there," she glanced behind her one more time, but the mysterious stalker was no where to be seen, "Did you remember your key this time, Mrs. Baker?"

The old womans face fell, and she gave Olive a sheepish smile.

"Oh dear..."

This was a daily occurrence with Mrs. Baker, who's memory wasn't the best.

"Its ok, I'll buzz you in when you get back. How long will you be?"

"Oh, I can't imagine being gone more than a half hour, just running to the store!" The old woman put a wrinkled hand on Olive's shoulder. "Thank you, dearie."

"It"s no problem. Be careful, there's creeps out tonight!"

Mrs. Baker's face crinkled as she scrunched her nose, "When is there not?"

They both laughed and parted ways, Olive's boots making the old staircase creak in protest as she tromped her way up the three flights. Yelling and music could be heard coming from her various neighbors as she ascended, as well as the smell of both cigarettes and weed despite the building being No Smoking. It was a typical, lively Friday night, but all she wanted was a fat joint, a frozen pizza, a shower, and to crawl into bed and be dead to the world for the next few hours.

Her body ached, her head was pounding, and she was so hangry she was ready to punch a hole in the wall.

After fighting the lock on her front door(her landlord still hadn't gotten around to getting that replaced), Olive slammed the old wood behind her, clicking all 5 deadbolts into place, as well as the chain lock. She turned the knob on the old oven to preheat for her pizza, and stripped out of her nasty, smelly work clothes on her way to the bathroom for a well needed scrub.

.

The shiny, brand new rental car stuck out like a sore thumb in front of the dingey Brooklyn apartment building, and many passerby were staring at the man in a suit standing next to it. Charles had to double and triple check the adress, as this was not where he had expected someone of her talent and access to wealth to be living. Alas, it was correct, and he turned to the Klokateer who had driven him.

"Stay here, this won't take long."

"Yes, sir."

Charles approached the listing and buzzer system on the outside of the brick building, scanning over the names until he found her, pressing her button and hoping she would answer. He knew she was home, he had had her followed to be sure, of course, but with the way she had avoided contact so far, he was skeptical that she would let him in.

The sound of a buzz and the door unlocking after only a few moments wait startled him, and he straightened his tie as he pushed open the squeaky door, making sure it shut fully behind him before making his way up the creaky stairs to the 3rd floor. 

.

Olive had just barely had time to shower, change into an oversized Cattle Decapitation tshirt and a pair of yoga shorts, and throw her pizza in the oven when the buzzer ran.

“Oh, Mrs. Baker, what’re you going to do when I’m not here anymore?”

With a sigh, she pressed the button to open the front door without a second thought, plopping down on her couch and grabbing her tray from the coffee table, skillfully rolling herself a joint of indica to hopefully help her sleep. She had been having trouble getting a decent night’s rest as of late, mind plagued by nightmares she couldn’t remember upon waking. 

_It’s probably a good idea to run some diagnostics..._

The curt knock at her front door made her jump in alarm, nearly knocking the rolling tray off her lap as she shot up to a standing position, eyeing the door warily. She had _not_ been expecting company.

Shit. The stalker.

_Damn, why didn’t I use the intercom to check to see if it was really Mrs. Baker?_

Socked feet tiptoed silently over to the door, hearing enhanced for any slight sound that could alert her to the person’s identify. After all, it could just be Mrs. Baker after all, coming up to ask her something or another, or bring her cookies, or thank her for letting her in.

 _Yeah, I’m being too paranoid. I’m sure it’s just Mrs. Baker.._.

Despite her attempts to reassure herself, her heart continued to pound as she leaned in to check the peephole.

Thankfully, it wasn’t the stalker, at least, but it was no Mrs. Baker, either. Before her door stood a brunette man sporting glasses, a briefcase, and what she could tell was an Armani suit even through the shitty lens.

_Oh, great... Better go ahead and get this over with.  
_

.

Charles was a bit surprised at the sound of multiple locks undoing, he hadn’t even heard her footsteps approach the door, which seemed impossible with such old, squeaky hardwood flooring. He barely had time to push up his glasses and straighten his tie once more before the door cracked open just enough to allow for a tan face and mass of pink hair to be seen, chain lock still in place. _  
_

“Can I help you?”

“Olive Axworthy, yes?”

Dark eyes narrowed, pouty lips turning down into a scowl. “What do you want?”

Charles cleared his throat. This was going to be more difficult than he anticipated. 

“My name is Charles Foster Offdensen, CFO and manager of Dethklok. May I come in?”

Her face morphed into one of confusion, but she took his offered business card, he didn’t miss the spark of curiosity flash across her eyes, and she closed the door without a word, opening it fully a moment later after removing the chain.

.

“This is a, ah, lovely place you got here.”

The man, Charles Foster Offdensen, eyed her apartment with well hidden disdain, despite his attempt at a compliment.

“Sure. So, what exactly are you doing here? Unannounced, at that.”

He fixed his eyes on the petite woman before him, even given his own short stature, he still towered over her five-foot-nothing figure.

“Well, I wouldn’t have had to come unannounced, if you had answered any of my calls or responded to my invitations. Did you even listen to any of the voicemail I left?”

“No, sorry.” Olive's eyes held no remorse despite her words.

The man sighed, “I thought not. This is by no means how I had wanted to conduct your interview, but it will do I suppose.”

Her face melted into once of quiet rage and disbelief. 

“Excuse me?”

_Who the fuck does this guy think he is?_

“I, ah, have an offer for you. An employment offer. To be the members of Dethklok’s personal physician.” 

A few moments passed of utter silence as she stared at him in bewilderment.

“Um, sorry, but what? Did I hear you properly? You do know I’m a mortician, right?”

Charles seemed unfazed, happy that the bristly woman hadn’t kicked him out of her apartment yet.

“Yes, well, I’ve looked through your history, and in spite of your current position, I find you to be a perfect candidate for this role. The, ah, only candidate, in fact.”

“You can’t be serious. I’m sure there’s plenty of people more qualified than I am.” 

At this Charles shook his head, and she rolled her eyes in exasperation.

“Sorry to say, but coming here’s been a waste of your time. I’m obviously not who you need, and I’m not even looking for a new job,” She turned around at the sound of an oven ding, waving a hand over her shoulder in dismissal. 

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, buddy.”

Charles was undeterred, standing his ground and making no move for the door.

“I would make it worth your while. The yearly salary would be in the triple digits.”

A scoff was his only reply as she grabbed an oven mitt, removing her dinner from the oven as if he wasn’t even there. 

“At least let me inform you of what the position entails.”

She turned back toward him with a roll of her eyes, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms, leveling him with an dull expression.

“Ok, I’ll humor you, man. Go ahead and tell me all about how wonderful an opportunity it is, how it’s going to change my life and grow my crops and clear my skin and make all my problems evaporate into thin air. But do finish before my pizza gets cold, yeah?”

The man cleared his throat, “Well, I can’t promise all of that, but if you’re having skin issues, we do employ a wonderful dermatologist who would be at your disposal should you so choose.”

Dark eyes widened, blinking owlishly at him as her face morphed into a small smirk.

“You’re funny, dude. But I don’t have all night.”

“Right. Like I said, the position is for a personal physician to Dethklok’s members. But this is a bit more advanced than just being an on-call doctor. You would be required to be present at all events, concerts, appearances, as well as living at Mordhaus, free of charge, of course, and stay in close proximity to the band at all times to provide both preventative care and as insurance in case the unexpected were to happen, along with your typical check ups and tests. This includes being present for all band meetings, recording sessions, and any general, ah, _excursions_ the boys might partake in. While living at Mordhaus, you would have access to all amenities there, within reason, of course. And as I said, you would be well compensated for your efforts.”

Charles finished his schpiel confidently, staring down the shocked woman who’s mouth was agape, body more relaxed and less guarded as she processed the information. 

Dethklok. This guy really hand selected her to work with _Dethklok._ And so closely with them, too! She had to stop her inner fangirl from getting too excited at the prospect, and she hooped it didn’t show through to her expression.

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re saying you want me to be, like, a body guard, but, like, against health conditions instead of attackers? Did I hear that right?”

“That’s one way to put it, I suppose.”

“And this is a serious offer? Like, do they really want this?” Olive was understandably in disbelief, after all...

_What kind of rich asshats need an ever-present doctor at their disposal?_

It was an utterly ridiculous request.

“Well, I wouldn’t say the band _wants this_ , per say, but it is in their best interest and they have agreed to give it a shot. Which is what I’m asking of you. Just a two week trial, to see if you’re a good fit for the boy’s needs.”

Charles walked into the kitchenette, setting his Maxwell Scott briefcase down on the counter and popping open the latch, pulling out a stack of paperwork and a gold and black Montblanc pen.

“I’ve taken the liberty of drawing up a contract for your trial run, give it a read over and sleep on it. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

He handed the papers to the stunned girl, then gathered up his belongings and headed for the door, stopping halfway to turn back to her.

“And do make sure to answer my call this time. I’d rather not have to make another special trip.”

With that, he was gone, leaving as quickly and unexpectedly as he had arrived. Olive glanced to the contract in her hands, skimming over the first page. This seemed legit. What the fuck. This was insane. Absolutely, utterly, _comically_ insane.

But not as insane as the fact that she was seriously considering it.

With a heavy, long suffering groan, she carefully placed the papers on the counter, she needed to eat before she could deal with reading business jargon. Turning back to her untouched pizza, she nearly cried in frustration to find it was cold. 

_God damn it, what an asshole._

_._

Charles, now comfortably back in his office the following day, was pleasantly surprised when Olive answered the phone, and after only two rings at that. Before he had the chance to greet her, he was interrupted, and a smile of satisfaction stole across his face at her words.

“Alright, man, as much as I wish I could turn you down to wipe that shit eating grin off your face that I’m sure you’re gonna have after this, I can’t. Good job, man, you convinced me. When do I start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, chapter two! I actually finished it when I said I would, too! Fucking unbelievable, I stg. Let’s see if I can keep this up and post chapter 3 tomorrow! Olive will be introduced to the band!


	3. Chapter 3

Olive had been given all of 24 hours to pack her things and make arrangements before she was flown out for her two week trial in Mordhaus. Now, after a day to settle in and go over various rules and regulations and what seemed to be a _ridiculous_ amount of health and safety waivers, she found herself in a rather lavish, gothic styled guest room, her bags tossed randomly across the floor, clothes strung out on the bed as she fretted and mumbled to herself over what to wear for her first meeting with the band.

"I don't want to look too formal, but I don't want to seem too casual either, _oh my god_ why didn't I pack more options I don't have _shit_ to wear fuck fuck _fuck..._ should I wear something kinda sexy? I want them to think I'm hot but I don't want to look like a fucking _groupie_ either, this is supposed to be a _professional_ meeting after all... god damn it..."

Dark eyes shot over to the plastic tub serving as temporary housing for her ball python, and she quickly approached, popping off the lid and lifting the snake out.

"What do you think, Apophis? Is this outfit ok for a first meeting?"

Said snake was draped over her neck as she walked to the mirror, turning this way and that as she mentally critiqued every little detail of her appearance. Her makeup was done, skin appearing flawless, dusty rose and grey eye shadow with matching rosey lips, and a dusting of gold highlight to compliment her skin tone, nails done with pointed tips and shiny black polish.

Her hair was proving to be as wild and unruly as ever, natural curls refusing to be tamed and forming a large pink mass on the left side of her head, a stark contrast to the dark brown stubble on the right. She longed to be able to pull it back in a classy french braid, but exposing the left side of her scalp was absolutely out of the question.

The grey, short sleeve turtle neck was tight and hugged her curves in all the right ways, accentuating her large chest without being revealing enough to be considered inappropriate, and the high waisted, black pencil skirt with equally black belt cinched in her waist before smoothing over her hips and coming to a stop at a modest-but-not-grandmotherly length just below her knees. 

She had chosen short sleeves to highlight the sprawling art that made up the tattoo sleeve on her right arm, as well as the rest of the singular pieces littered across her other arm and both legs.

The ensemble did _wonders_ for her figure, but it was still a bit plain. Missing something. _  
_

_Boring._

And that was the _last_ thing she wanted to seem when meeting her favorite band.

"If only I could wear _you_ as an accessory, Apophis," she sighed, walking over to the messy, tangled pile of metal that her jewelry had become in her haste to pack.

"Now... how to spice this up..."

After much frustration and cursing herself multiple times for not taking the time to properly store her necklaces, Olive finally managed to untangle her statement piece. It was simple, but beautifully crafted; a medium sized, smoky glass pendant attached to a long silver chain, a few shades darker than her top. To compliment, she fished out a plethora of silver studs and hoops to fill in all of her ear piercings, choosing plain black tunnels to make her stretched lobes stand out.

Slipping on a pair of black closed toe heels, she did one last turn, jolting a bit in surprise at the knock on her door, a muffled voice addressing her through the heavy wood.

“It’s time, miss.”

Nerves set heavy in the pit of her stomach as she returned the reptile to it’s home, and she bounced on the balls of her feet for a few moments before working up the courage to open the door, smiling politely at the Klokateer who was stationed outside her room, the very same one, it turned out, whom had been her mystery stalker a few days prior.

“Are you ready, miss?”

Olive cleared her throat awkwardly, nodding in response as she didn’t trust her voice not to crack, and began to follow after the rather large fellow who’s name she didn’t know, heels clacking against the stone floor as she fought the urge to vomit. He had introduced himself as a _number,_ twelve-thousand-and-something, which was honestly very unnerving, and had her questioning whether she should be working for a place that dehumanized it’s employees so, but had decidedly disregarded the matter. It was probably easier for everyone involved, with the sheer amount of people they employed, to go by number instead.

Lost in thought as she was, she barely noticed as a large, medieval style door came into view, two more large, hooded men posted up on either side, and sucked in a few, hopefully discreet, deep breaths as it dawned on her that this was actually happening. Behind that door await the most famous, most musically talented men in the entire fucking world. Waiting to evaluate her. To judge her. To decide if she was worthy of their time. _Worthy of their presence_. 

Oh, she was absolutely _fucked_! What had she been thinking? There was no way in _hell_ that she was actually qualified for this!

Stalkateer, as she had dubbed the behemoth of a man, rapped gently on the wood, addressing her before entering.

“Please wait here, miss.”

Heart slamming against her chest, pounding in her ears, stomach about to implode, a cold sweat breaking out all over, she fought the primal urge to _fucking run_.

_God I need to get myself together. I can do this. It’s just like any other stupid business meeting. Only this time it’s with_ **fucking Dethklok** _. Oh god oh god..._

After what seemed like hours but was in reality mere thirty seconds of Olive trying her damndest to avoid eye contact with the two guards, the door creaked open and Stalkateer reemerged, taking up post next to one of his coworkers. _  
_

“The masters are ready for you.”

.

Charles took a steadying breath, assessing the band members in various states of inebriation before him. He had requested they be sober for the first meeting with their potential physician, so of course none of them were, although he would give them credit for all being awake and semi interested, which is more than he could typically say about their usual alertness during meetings.

“So.. you uh, you really found someone, huh?” Nathan looked at him with mild skepticism, slouching in his chair, beer bottle in hand.

“Ah, yes, yes I did. And I can assure you that she meets all of your, ah, _conditions_.” 

“Scho then sche’sh hot, right?”

“And knows how to, uh, like, cut up corpses and stuff?”

“She’s ams a nice ladys too, rights? One whats know hows to haves fun?”

“Boys, boys, settle down,” Charles raised his hands in a silencing gesture, attempting to quiet the rapid fire questions, “why don’t you all make the call yourselves? I’ve asked her to do a two week trial, to, ah, see how she gets along with everyone. She should be here any moment now, actually, for me to introduce to you all.”

As if on cue, a knock sounded at the door, a Klokateer entering and bowing before his masters, announcing the arrival of the woman in question.

“Ah, very well. Thank you, Number 12945. You may let her in.”

All eyes turned to the door, the _click clack_ of heels approaching the only sound in the room as a small figure appeared, dark eyes glancing over every person in the room once as she made her way to stand next to Charles, looking every bit as cool and collected on the outside as she felt nauseous on the inside.

“Everyone, I would like you to meet Olive Axworthy, your new personal doctor.”

.

A deafening silence filled the room for a few moments as Olive stood before the band, all eyes on her as everyone was frozen for a beat, a bit shocked at just how very young, how very small, and how very _pretty_ of a doctor Charles had managed to pull out of nowhere. She fought against the need to fidget under their stare, standing straight and proud with a neutral expression like she had been drilled to by her adoptive father.

“Dood. Are ya even, like, _old enough_ ta be a doctor?”

Finally, the awkward silence was broken, Olive’s eyes snapping over to the owner of the voice and nearly _squealing_ in excitement as she met the gaze of _fucking Pickles the Drummer_ , frontman of Snakes n’ Barrels turned best drummer in the world, who was talking to her.

Oh _sweet jesus,_ he was talking to her!

_Respond, you idiot!_

“Oh, um, yeah. I graduated early.”

 _Great, real articulate, Olive..._

She could have smacked herself for giving such a lame answer, but he merely raised a pierced brow at her in response, and she nearly _died_ from how ridiculously attractive it was.

“Scho are you like schome kinda geniush or schomethin?” _  
_

Dark eyes slid over to the person sitting next to the redhead, and she felt her heart flip at the sight of _William fucking Murderface_ slouching in his chair, arms crossed and eyes racking over her body none too subtly.

_Oh my god, he’s checking me out, holy fuck._

“Uh, technically, yeah, I am.”

“Huh. How ‘bout that.” _  
_

On the other side of the table, someone cleared their throat, and Olive was sure every person in the room could hear how loud her heart was pounding as she met the eyes of _Nathan god damn Explosion,_ his broad form even more appealing in person. _  
_

_Lord, how I’d love to be pinned under him...  
_

“You, uh.. You can, like, work on, uh, dead people, right?”

Shaking off her perverted train of thought, Olive couldn’t help but smile at that, relaxing a bit as the topic turned away from her and to corpses _._

“Yeah. I’ve been working in a morgue for the past year.” _  
_

“And you, like, take out all their, uh, organs and blood and stuff? You can do that?” He had leaned forward in his chair, becoming more attentive at the change in conversation.

“Yeah. I can do autopsies, embalming, cremation.. pretty much anything.” _  
_

“Oh, wowee! That ams so _cool_!”

Olive practically _salivated_ at the sight of _Toki Wartooth_ grinning at her from beside Nathan _,_ his long, silky hair shining beautifully as he stared at her in fascination. _  
_

“Ja, how cools ams it tos cuts open people whats already died?” _  
_

“Yous ams so _means_ , Skwisgaar! It ams too cool!” _  
_

Said blonde scoffed at Toki, fingers plucking away at the strings of the guitar in his grasp as his icey eyes sized up the woman before him, much slower and with much more _purpose_ than Murderface had. _  
_

_Skwisgaar Skwigelf. I’m in the same room as Skwisgaar Skwigelf. He’s so beautiful. This isn’t real._  


Despite her Inner Fangirl blabbering away like an idiot, Olive managed to push aside the urge to jump the blonde and ride him for all he was worth right then and there on the table in front of everyone, instead shrugging as his eyes finally met hers. _  
_

“I mean, it’s pretty fun. Better than dealing with most living people, y’know?“ _  
_

There were a few chuckles around the table at that, and Pickles stole her attention once more, a sexy, crooked grin on his face.

“Fun, huh? Is dat what ya cahll it?”

Olive grinned a slightly devious grin back at him, eyes glinting in mirth _._

“Yeah, I’d say so.” _  
_

“Whoah. So, like, can you, uh, show us? Like right now?” _  
_

Nathan's face was lit up with childlike excitement, and as she glanced around the table, so were the other member’s, even Skwisgaar. _  
_

“Sure, why not?” Dark eyes turned their focus to the suited man next to her, who had been silent for this entire exchange, and he eyed her with slight suspicion as she smiled mischievously at him. Oh god, what had he done, putting this woman and Dethklok together? And with her next question, it cemented in his mind that she was going to be nothing but trouble for him. _  
_

“Got a body?” _  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments give me life and make me write faster! Please, I'm desperate for validation.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting to get really into this now, enjoy!

"So, how are you boys feeling about Olive? Any, ah, thoughts? Concerns?"

The band had reconvened in the meeting room after the spur of the moment autopsy demonstration(there was, luckily, always a dead body on hand at Mordhaus, what with the employee death rate), Olive having been dismissed for the remainder of the day to finish settling in, set to start her duties the following day.

"I dunno, dood, I mean, she seems kinda fahked in the head a bit," Pickles was the first to comment as he popped the cap to a fresh beer, recalling how she had enthusiastically prattled on about different diseases and birth defects that were possible in each organ as she had removed it, "but in like, y'know, a good way."

"Yeah, I'm, uh, pretty sure people aren't supposed to be, like, _that happy_ when talking about flesh eating viruses," Nathan took a swig from his own beer as the rest of the band nodded in agreement. "But uh... watching her slice that guy open? That was, uh, pretty fucking brutal. And really hot."

Murdeface crossed his arms and reclined back in his seat, eyeing all his bandmates before staring down Charles.

"Schure, schesch a babe and all, but isch sche really _good enough_ to be the doctor for _Dethklok_? I mean, we're talkin our health here, guysch! What'sch more important than that?"

Pickles scoffed at Murderace's attempt to be devil's advocate, giving him a skeptical sideways glance.

"Dood, since when do yeh care aboot bean' healthy?"

"Ya, Moidaface! Yous just wants to bes a dick!" Toki glanced to Charles, nodding his head. "I likes her, I thinks she should stays."

"Thank you, Toki.” The bespectacled man cleared his throat, “I can, ah, assure you, Murderface, that she is more than qualified for this position. I did screen her myself, after all. Her capabilities are on par with anyone else I would have considered, but she is the only one who met all of your, ah, _selected criteria_."

"Yeh mean shes da only one who wasn't some crusty old dood like our other dahctors?"

"Yes, Pickles, precisely," Charles' attention turned to the blonde busily plucking away at his guitar, the only one who had yet to provide any feedback. "Ah, Skwisgaar, anything to say? About Olive?"

"Ja, I woulds do hers, evens if she ams creepys."

"Yeah, me too."

Charles could only sigh as the conversation quickly devolved into Skwisgaar and Nathan discussing the do-ability of his newest hire.

"That's, ah, not what I meant. At all. But I would like to go ahead and ask that all of you refrain from any attempt at a physical or romantic relationship with her, since she is your, ah, employee. It would make for a difficult sexual harrassment case, were anything to go sour, and we can all agree that we don't need another one of those? Yes?"

Charles knew the disgruntled, grumbled agreements from around the room were the only affirmation he would receive.

"Alright then. Since we are, ah, all in agreement, I shall have her follow through with the two week trial as planned, and then you can make your final decision. In the mean time, I would like for her to conduct a routine physical exam on each of you to learn all of your, ah, various health conditions."

"What!? A fuckin check up!? Didn't we juscht have one of thosche?"

"Well, Murderface, that was, ah, last year. An annual physical is crucial for prevention of the onset of illnesses. And as I said, she needs to familiarize herself with your, ah, your... bodies."

The immature snickering around the table at his last sentence was expected, as was Muderface's continued outbursts.

"Scho we're gonna have to take our clothesch off and get poked and prodded by thisch chick? And you exschpect us to not even fuck her? Isch sche gonna schtick her finger up our asschesch too?!"

"Pfft, like she woulds evens thinks about fuckings you, Moidaface."

“Yeah, I uh, feel bad for her, y’know, having to see him naked and all. It’ll, uh, probably blind her. Scar her for life or... something.”

The bassist stood abruptly at the taunting, chair screeching back as he threw his hands up in exasperation.

"Fuck thisch!"

"Murderface, please sit down” Charle’s took a moment to close his eyes and inhale deeply through his nose as Murdeface plopped back down in his seat with a scowl. “I hired her to be the band physician, remember? What else did you expect if not a typical examination? Regardless, I have, ah, other matters to attend to. Any other questions or comments? No? Excellent.”

Charles made for the door quickly, but turned back around and addressed the room before exiting fully, “And, ah, everyone, please be sober for your physicals tomorrow, ok?”

He knew it was a pointless request, as confirmed by their halfhearted agreements, but at least he could say he tried.

* * *

 

_Ohmygod ohmygod ohmyGOD_

The formidable wooden door to her temporary housing closed heavily behind Olive, and she leaned back against the hard wood to kept herself upright, heart pounding in her chest as she finally let herself be overcome by the pure, raw emotions she had kept at bay for the past few hours, a ridiculous squeal bubbling forth from her throat as she smiled a big, jaw-achingly large smile. 

“Holy SHIT!”

With that exclamation, she hurriedly kicked off her heels and propelled herself onto the plush mattress, latching onto a pillow and burying her face in the fluff to muffle her thrilled screeching, feet kicking childishly in an attempt to relieve the tension caused by excitement-fueled adrenaline coursing through her body.

Once thoroughly satisfied with the amount of emotion released, she surfaced from the pillow for air, face red and hair wildly askew, and snatched her phone, sitting up to type a brief message to her twin sister, telling her of the good news and promising a more detailed phone call later that night, not trusting herself to be able to form coherent enough sentences to hold a conversation at the moment. Despite this, she was still bursting with the need to talk to _someone_ out loud to organize her thoughts, and so turned to the only other being in the room, who was currently curled up and napping under his wooden tunnel.

“Sorry to wake you, Apophis, but I _have_ to tell you about this!” 

Said reptile lazy curled itself around her arm as she held the appendage in front of her, flat head resting on the back of her hand as he blinked slowly, paying as much attention as a snake could.

“I don't even know where to _start_ , they were so much better in person than I could have imagined! Fuck! They’re all so so cool, so beautiful, too! And Murrderface and Skwisgaar were totally checking me out, can you believe it? Oh my _god_ , you were right about picking out this outfit, man. And they wanted me to do an autopsy for them! God, you should’ve been there, their faces when I made the Y incision were fucking _priceless_ , like they didn’t think I’d actually be able to do it. _Fuckers._ Nathan seemed really into it, though, I think he said in an interview once that his favorite subject in school was, like, frog dissection or something fucked up like that.” 

Sucking in a big breath after her long winded jabbering, a concerned look crossed her face as the long bodied creature shifted, raising its head to stare at her from eye level.

“Oh! Don’t worry, they don’t dissect snakes in school, just frogs. I’d never let anyone hurt you anyway, you know that.”

Seemingly abated, he settled back down, once more relaxing against her hand.

“Man, _dude_ , there’s no way I can focus enough to unpack, damn. I’m supposed to give them my first physical exams tomorrow. I’m so nervous, I don’t know what I’m gonna do. What if I fuck up? What if they fire me before I even get a chance to know them? Oh my _god_ why did I think I could do this?”

Her audience merely flicked his tongue at her in annoyance.

“Yeah, you’re right, man. _Fuck it_. Whatever happens, happens. I’ll be fine. It’s fine. I’m fine. Totally fine. The finest I’ve ever been. Yep”

The nervous laugh following her attempt at self assurance would have made Apophis roll his eyes, if such a thing were possible for a snake to do.

* * *

 

“Dude, are you _drunk? Seriously?_ ”

Olive, clad in your stereotypical white lab coat over a simple form fitting black dress, clipboard in hand, stared in disbelief at the massive front man sitting before her on the exam chair.

“Uh... I mean, I only had a, uh, a couple of beers. Not uh, not enough to get me drunk, or... anything.”

Dark eyes could only blink at him incredulously.

“Man, I can smell the alcohol on your breath from here, and it’s not just beer.”

Nathan at least had the decency to look a bit sheepish at that, averting his eyes to stare at one of the many anatomical diagrams on the wall.

“I, uh.. I didn’t think it would matter.”

The newly appointed physician could only sigh. 

_Damn he looks adorable._

“It’s ok. We can just, um, try this again tomorrow. But no drinking before, ok? I mean it. I can’t get proper readings while you’re intoxicated, yeah?”

A deep grunt was his only reply as he hopped to the floor, boots thudding loudly from the impact, silky hair flowing around his shoulders. As he strode past her for the door, Olive couldn’t help but shudder a bit at how much bigger he was than her, his broad frame casting a large shadow over her own small one, a shiver going down her spine at his deep voice when he mumbled a half assed “sorry” before slamming the door shut behind him.

* * *

 

There was only one word for the look Skwisgaar Skwigelf was leveling her with right now; _dangerous_.

“How’s does yous wants me, _doctor_?” 

She had wondered for years, about how women could keep throwing themselves at this man, keep having his love children when they knew there was no hope for anything more than meaningless sex with someone probably riddled with STDs, destined to be a soon forgotten face among the hundreds of other who had fallen victim to his charms. 

But that _look_. Like he wanted to devour her, make her fully and wholly his, devote his entire being to pleasuring her and _only her_. The way his voice dropped and sent chills down her spine when he spoke her title. It was a pull unlike any attraction she had experienced before.

_Fucking hell. I get it now._

The blonde was standing just _slightly_ closer than would be considered appropriate, towering over her, leaning forward slightly as he waited for instruction, a knowing smile curling onto his face as Olive cleared her throat and looked away.

_Damn him._

“Just, um, on the exam chair, and take your shirt and pants off.”

He leaned back from from her and sauntered away, stretching his long arms above his head as he removed his shirt, making a show of it as he carelessly tossed the article of clothing on a nearby chair, glancing back at her over his shoulder as he unbuttoned his pants and let them drop as he hopped up.

_Oh, you motherfucker. I’m not that easy._

Victory was claimed as hers when the obnoxiously attractive smirk fell from his face, replaced by an annoyed pout at her next words as she tapped her pen on the clipboard. _  
_

“So. Let’s talk about your rather _extenisive_ history of STDs.”

* * *

 

“No fuckin way. You can kissch my assch if you think I’m gonna strip for you so you can jab at me like that schtiff from yeschterday.”

Olive sighed in exasperation, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Man, come on, seriously, you have to take your shirt off for me to do this right.”

Murderface crossed his arms protectively over his chest, turning his nose up and looking away childishly with a small ‘hmph.’

“Look, I’m not going to slice you open. You gotta at least take me on a date first before I’ll go that far with you.” 

The brunette turned to her fully and raised his lip in an attempt at distaste, which was overthrow as he failed to fight off a smile at her lame joke, a soft pink blush creeping on his cheeks at the implication.

“Fine. But juscht don’t try any funny sctuff, or I’ll kick your assch.”

Her snicker made his face redden deeper.

“Noted.”

* * *

 

The scars gleaming at her from Toki’s bare back were alarming, to say the least. But they were old, _multiple years_ old, the skin long healed and morphed into a pale off white, with only a few remaining a light, almost imperceptible pink. He was tense and silent, breathing shallowly, probably waiting for her to ask, but she wasn’t going to.

_No need to bring up bad memories. Just get the basics without being direct._

“Have you had any surgeries or broken bones in your life?”

“No skurgeries, buts a fews bones breaks when I was littles.”

“Were you medically treated for them? Did they heal properly? Ever have any pain in those areas, like when the weather changes?”

“Um, sometimes, whens it about to starts raingings. Deys ache.”

Olive nodded, scribbling the info down on his chart in her messy handwriting, not missing how he avoided the first two questions.

“Alright, you can get dressed, I think I got everything I needed.”

The guitarist exhaled a slightly uneven breath, muscles relaxing as he yanked his shirt back on, shooting the woman before him a thankful look and settling back on the exam chair.

“You’re in the best shape of anyone else I’ve seen so far, man. Keep it up.”

One congratulatory pat on the shoulder later and Toki was exiting the room, yelling to someone in the waiting area as he walked out that he was better than them. 

* * *

 

A long, weary sigh snuck it’s way past Olive’s lips as she waited for her last patient of the day to arrive, mulling over her previous interactions with the band.

_What the fuck have I gotten myself into?_

“Long day, huh?” _  
_

Chuckling tiredly, she turned to greet the redhead as he meandered in, bee lining for the exam chair and hoisting himself up without being asked, settling at the very edge of the cushion.

“Yeah, man, just a bit.”

Green eyes sparkled at her in amusement, pierced brow raising as he began to tap out a light beat with his feet, elbows resting on his knees. 

“Yehp, the other guys can be real douchebags aboot this stuff. Hope dey didn’t give yeh too much trouble?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” the response was automatic and half-hearted as she scribbled a note about his fidgeting on the clipboard in hand.

“Dat so?”

She looked up at that and immediately regretted it. There was that damned side grin of his again.

“Y- yeah.”

_Oh my god did I just fucking stutter?_

It took all she had for her newly weak knees to not give out under her as he gave her a wink. 

“Atta girl.”

_This man is going to be the death of me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lot of dialogue in this, hope I didn't butcher it.  
> Comments are my life blood


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to mariehuanna on tumblr, who made this absolutely perfect art of Olive!  
> https://mariehuanna.tumblr.com/post/184629620370/thirsty-ho-scenarios-i-couldnt-find-your-submit

Smoke billowed thickly around Olive as she exhaled slowly, illuminated by the blue glow from her laptop screen where she was piecing together the medical histories for each Dethklok member. She had been given access to their full records, of course, but was adding in her own observations and making note of what each member had neglected to mention, or had simply lied about.

It was important for her to know how much she could trust their word on their own health. And by the looks of it, not much. Running the ball of her tongue ring across the back of her teeth absentmindedly as she took in the information before her, she sighed at the discovery that every single one of them had fudged the truth. 

_Going to have to do quite a bit of trust building, it seems._

Flicking the ash from her half finished joint, her second of the night, she used her free hand to raise a glass of wine to her lips, sipping the deep red liquid slowly, savoring the flavor. The bottle had been a gift from Charles, shockingly enough. It had awaited her on her desk when she had arrived back from the Mordhaus hospital after concluding the band’s physical exams the previous day, with a short, to the point note welcoming her to her new position.

_Dude must've known how difficult they'd be and knew I'd need a drink after._

She wasn't sure whether to be grateful for the thought, or irritated at his lack of warning.

The sounds of footsteps and voices approaching followed by rapid knocks forced her to, unwillingly, put out her joint, and she tiptoed to the door silently, unsure of what to expect on the other side. She absently wondered if she would ever feel comfortable enough here to let down her guard.

Swinging open the large, imposing door, she was greeted by the sight of the band’s two brunette’s arguing. Olive cleared her throat to get their attention, so enthralled by their conversation were they that they were oblivious to her presence.

Murderface jumped a bit, his face tinging pink as he realized he didn’t know how long she had been standing there.

“Oh, ah, hey there. We were just, uh, I mean, the guysch and usch, we were talking and, uh, we juscht were thinking that you schould maybe, y’know, schince we don’t know you yet and all..”

Olive sipped her wine as Murderface rambled, leaning her shoulder against the door frame and waiting for him to get to the point as Toki gave him a rather incredulous look, interrupting the babbling bass player.

“What Moidaface ams tryings to says ams dats wes inviting you to comes and hangs outs with us.”

Dark eyes blinked at their expectant faces a few times as Olive felt a small smile creep onto her face.

_Holy shit Dethklok wants me to hang out with them._

“Yeah, sure, of course. Um, let me just...”

She reentered her room, quickly setting down the fragile glass and yanking on a dark green and navy flannel over her Misfits tshirt to ward off the chill of the castle, slipping on her blacked out work boots and hurriedly glancing into the mirror to fluff her hair before rejoining the two in the hall, the trio beginning the trek to the rec room.

Murderface cleared his throat and attempted to fill the rapidly growing awkward silence with small talk.

“Scho, _Olive_. That’sch a nice name. Where’re you from?”

“Uh, thanks. Er, I’ve been living in New York for the past few years.”

“Ya? I loves New Yorks! All thems super talls buildings, and the pizzas ams the best!”

Toki gave Olive a big smile, which she took great comfort in. The guy seemed so genuine, he was definitely growing on her.

“Yeah, Toki, New York _isch_ known for the pizscha. Scho where’d you live before that? Where did _Olive_ grow up?”

Ignoring the bells in her head going off to _not give too much personal information,_ she continued.

_Trust is built both ways. These guys aren’t a threat. Calm down._

“Well.. I was born in Seoul, but we moved to New Orleans when my sister and I were 4, so I don't remember much about it.”

“Oh, wowee, Korea? Dat ams so fars away!”

Murderface gave her a side eye, “Korea, huh? You’re not schome kind of commie are you?”

“ _Moidaface_! Yous can’ts just bes asking peoples if theys ams communists!”

They had reached the entrance of the common area at this point, and three sets of eyes had turned from the video game on the tv screen to their conversation, brows raised at Toki’s exclamation. 

“Uhhh... Who’s a communist?”

Olive deadpaned at Nathan, but couldn’t help cracking a smile at the ridiculous question, turning back to address Murderface’s accusation.

“Dude, you _can’t_ be serious.”

The bassist put his hands up defensively, “You’re the one who schaid you were from Korea!”

“Yeah, _South_ Korea!”

“Right, right, well _excuuusche me_. Schimple mischtake, no need to get scho bent out of schape.”

Rolling her eyes in dismissal as Murderface walked off to plop down next to Nathan with crossed arms, said vocalist now continuing to smash buttons on the controller in his hands, she made her way forward, eyeing the empty seat next to Pickles, judging it a much safer option than the one by Skwisgaar. The redhead gave her his crooked grin as she sat, making no move to retract the freckled arm draped over the back of the couch behind her and gestured to the bottle of beer in his hand.

“Yeh wahnt one?”

Smiling at him softly, she nodded, attempting to ignore the feeling of a blush forming on her cheeks from his proximity.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Sure thing, babe.” Pickles winked at her, nearly causing her heart to palpitate, then turned to yell to Toki, who had yet to claim a seat. 

“Hey, Toki!”

“Ya?”

“Grab us a couple beers, woodja?”

Pale eyes flashed between the two, seeming to consider saying no, but smiled when he noticed Olive’s light blush.

“Sure tings, Pickle.”

The Norwegian walked off, and Olive turned her attention to the screen before her in an attempt to calm the butterflies fluttering in her chest, taking a deep breath and swallowing thickly.

_I’m way too high to handle this. Fuck._

After what seemed an eternity of Olive trying to act like a normal human being who wasn’t anxious at all, Toki returned with three bottles, handing an open beer to both her and Pickles and keeping one for himself as he settled next to the ever silent blonde who had been strumming away on his guitar the entire time. She swallowed gratefully, thankful for something to relieve her severe cottonmouth, and narrowed her eyes at the tv before her as Nathan yet again failed the mission, a bright red WASTED overtaking the screen.

_Man, he sucks at this..._

“Ughh, fuck this. This shit’s too, too hard.”

The pink haired woman cleared her throat, drawing the attention of all in the room.

“Mind if I try?”

Nathan gave her a surprised look, but passed the controller over.

“Uhh.. ok. Sure. If you, uh, want.”

Setting down her beer and grasping the controller, Olive hastily punched in the series of buttons that would alot her all the best weapons, stealing a car and taking off on the mission, quickly getting passed the farthest Nathan had.

“ _Whoah_. How’d you uh, how’d you do that?”

Eyes still glued to the screen, she grinned mischievously at the vocalist’s excited tone.

“I, um, have most of the cheats for this game memorized. You just didn’t have the right weapons for what you were trying to do.”

“Wowee, Olives! Yous ams so much gooders at dis dans Natens.”

Pickles chuckled next to her as Nathan and Toki began to squabble, Murderface throwing in his two cents about how he had known that cheat code but just _hadn’t wanted to brag about it_ , and Olive couldn’t help the large grin that took over her face, all feelings of nervousness vanishing as she laughed along with them.

.

The rest of Olive’s two week trial flew by in a similar fashion, the majority of her time spent hanging out and bullshitting with the band, accompanying them on the occasional public appearance and hiding on the sidelines, and keeping a sharp eye out for any symptoms of possible health conditions that they themselves were unaware of.

Any lingering nerves had mostly withered away as she spent more time with them, though those damned butterflies still acted up when confronted with Pickles’ casual flirting, Toki’s dreamy eyes, any close proximity of Nathan’s large form, and the way Murderface cast lingering, heated glances her way. 

But they were especially violent with Skwisgaar’s sexual advances, all of which she had managed to evade so far with her quick tongue, and he luckily hadn’t pursued her too hard in favor of the may groupies which flocked to him on a nightly basis.

Speaking of the groupies.

There were _so many.  
_

Olive had been understandably taken aback at the first party of Dethlok’s she had attended, as it was positively _filled_ with women of all types and ages, Pickles, Nathan, and Skwisgaar all ending the night with at least three accompanying them to bed. She wasn’t entirely sure what she had expected, she was fully aware of the band’s reputations for being womanizers, but being faced with it so directly was a bit much for her social anxiety.

Toki and Murderface had been her saving graces that night, both seemingly more interested in hanging out and challenging her to a drinking contest than in picking up a bed partner.

Despite the protests the next morning, Olive had been insistent on making the three very hungover members take rapid std tests first thing, and made sure to impress upon them that this was to be their new norm.

Skwisgaar, it turned out, was in need of an std screening _every single day_ , which was extremely impractical, so she graciously offered him a biweekly testing schedule, and finally got him to begrudgingly swear on his guitar to come to her if he had any symptoms or slept with someone he suspected might be infected for whatever reason.

Olive’s job was to keep them healthy, and she wasn’t fucking around. It was best they learned that now.

.

Charles had sent a Klokateer to retrieve Dethklok’s new doctor as soon as his meeting with the band was complete, and he flipped through her permanent contract one final time as he awaited her arrival.

The band had unanimously been on board with keeping the woman around, which was shocking to him at first, as Dethklok hardly ever cooperated with his suggestions, but he supposed with how well she seemingly got on with them all he shouldn’t have been surprised. 

They had a tendency to latch on to new people whom they could consider friends, after all, and Olive was a good fit.

The CFO had already arranged to have her permanent room set up as close to Dethklok’s own personal quarters as reasonably possible, and had also sent for the rest of her belongings from that dingy, run down Brooklyn apartment. It was now merely a matter of discussion the fine details, as he had no doubt that she would be in agreement with staying.

A knock sounded at his office door, and Charles set down his glass of brandy. 

“Ah, come in.”

.

The sun had just began to start it’s downward descent beyond the horizon, elongating shadows and casting an orange hue over the land, the heavens above ignited in warm tones as Olive made her way out of the haus and onto the grounds, mind still reeling over having just accepted her permanent position.

“Good evening, miss. The wolves have just been fed, now is the best time.”

She nodded to the Klokateer manning the yard wolves territory, and did her best to swallow down her nerves; the last thing she wanted was the wolves to smell her fear and end up being mauled like the band’s former therapist. The man called to them, and a group of six gorgeous beings congregated before her. The pack maintained distance, staring her down with distrust, but taking cue from the Klokateer, they were not growling and no hackles were raised. After what seemed an eternity, one brave soul, a young, gangly, tan and grey boy cautiously made his way forward. Approaching the gate slowly, she knelt down to his level, pressing a hand up to the wire in offering for him to sniff. 

The sound of footsteps advancing from behind made her stiffen, but shockingly the wolves rejoiced. Their change in demeanor was instantaneous, and they began to yip in excitement, running to huddle around the entrance as she turned to view the source of the commotion, eyes landing on her tallest patient.

“You ams meeting de wolves?”

Rising to her feet, she glanced back to the canines waiting patiently at the gate, then returned her gaze to the man before her, neck craning up slightly to meet his eyes.

She hated him for being so tall, truly, she did.

“Um, yeah. Charles said I should for security purposes. So they don’t, y’know, kill me if I were to fall out of a window or something.”

Plush lips quirked up in a ~~very attractive~~ smirk at that, his blue eyes radiant in the glow of the dying sun, seemingly illuminated by a light of their own.

“Ja, dat wouldst be unsforktunates.”

A yip caught his attention, his face softening as he strode forward on long legs, stopping once he reached the gate to turn back and offer Olive his hand, a gentle smile lighting up his handsome face.

“Come. Deys won’t hurts you if you ams with mes.”

Dark eyes shot from the Swede’s outstretched hand to his own eyes, and she cautiously placed her hand in his, allowing him to guide her through the gate. The pack had stopped their rejoicing, but were displaying no signs of aggression at her presence, all looking to Skwisgaar for an indication of how they should act. 

Olive’s grip on the blonde’s hand tightened at the tense atmosphere as she desperately tried to keep her cool.

“Don’ts be afraids. Relaks.” 

Skwisgaar managed to pry his hand from her death grip, long arms encircling her body as she was pressed flush against him, his tall form leaning over hers protectively as his hand settled on the small of her back.

Olive’s body was on fire, blood boiling in embarrassment and light arousal as he buried his face in her hair, inhaling softly.

“Skwisgaar.. what- what are you doing?”

She both heard and felt the vibrations as he chuckled, and he leaned in further to whisper next to her ear.

“Showings de wolves dat you belongs to mes. Deys won’t touch what ams _mines_.”

Olive swallowed thickly, his words sending chills down her spine and she couldn’t suppress a shiver as heat spread forth from her core, flames of desire tickling along her body as all of her senses became consumed by the man holding her.

_Skwisgaar Skwigelf, you absolute fucking bastard._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get spicy next chapter ;)  
> Pls comment and tell me what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is hella long, or at least, it’s like twice the length of the rest of the chapters.

After a week's time, an impromptu flight back to her old apartment to carefully secure a few _important_ possessions, and to say a very tearful goodbye to Mrs. Baker (which she had refused to budge on despite Charles's insistence that the Klokateers were more than capable of packing up her life for her) Olive was finally settling in to her new room.

Stalkateer had been the main one helping her move, packing up the moving truck and helping her arrange furniture once she had returned to Mordhaus, and he had actually turned out to be a pretty decent guy, when she was able to get him to talk, which wasn’t often. He seemed almost... _scared_ of her, which was concerning, but none the less, she had managed to weasel some conversation out of him, and he had hooked her up with a _desperately_ needed weed connection with another gear who was growing in their closet.

Her new quarters were located a mere minute's walk from the band’s personal quarters. Such closeness, of course, was necessary, in case something were to happen to one of them during the night. But it also meant that her room was directly on the path to and from _their_ rooms, and as such allowed the perfect opportunity for the boys to pop in at any time, which they had already begun to do.

“This music ams weird, Olives.”

Olive didn’t feel particularly inclined to change from the BTS playlist that drifted from the speakers, located strategically around her room for the best sound, as she hammered yet another picture hanger into the wall. 

Toki and Murderface had come under the guise of helping her arrange her room, but the Norwegian had long since forgotten his original purpose, instead settled on the floor with a box containing all of her collectible figurines, effectively stalling her own progress every few minutes to ask her who each new figure he alleviated of it’s bubble wrap prison was.

Unsurprisingly, the boy had been absolutely taken with Apophis, who now lay draped over Toki’s neck, occasionally weaving his way though the brunette’s silky hair.

Murderface, surprisingly, was actually being at least _somewhat_ productive, but was only emptying the boxes he deemed ‘interesting.’

Still, despite the interruptions, it was nice to have company to break up the monotony of unpacking, even if they complained about her music taste.

“It’sch _gay_ , isch what it isch. Fucking boy bandsch...”

Olive scoffed and turned to grab the framed, stylized Japanese movie poster for Army of Darkness, hooking it into place on the stone wall and stepping back to make sure it was level.

“Oh, come on, it’s not so bad,” Olive smiled mischievously to herself as she said her next words, “and you guys are technically a boy band too, you know?”

Toki and Murderface both snapped their attention to her at that, movements frozen and eyes wide as the realization dawned on them.

“What! No way! We’re _men_ , not _boysch_.”

“Ya, we ams _way_ mores brutal!”

She could only laugh, turning back to bang in another hook, mutilating the stone further.

“You got enough schit to put on the wallsch?”

She glanced at the stacks of framed art and canvas on the floor propped against the wall before her, as well as the folded tapestries and wall hangings, and shrugged at the bassist.

“I like to have things I like around. Is that so bad?”

Toki hummed at them, too intently focused on inspecting the Faye Valentine figure in his hands to give proper attention to any conversation, the tip of his tongue sticking cutely out of his lips as he admired the paint job.

Snatching up the next victim to be suspended, Olive nearly dropped it at a sudden outburst from Murderface.

_“Holy schit!”  
_

Olive snapped her attention over to him, and felt her stomach drop as she noticed the elongated black box now on top of her bed instead of below. The lid was lifted and propped open as Murderface stood with a single hand outstretched, hesitant to touch the contents inside, and she strode forward on quick feet, slamming the lid back down as he jumped slightly at her abruptness.

“Wasch that a fucking _Yoschindo Yoschihara_ katana in there?”

Fighting back the urge to slap the asshole for snooping, she regarded the man staring at her with wide eyes, glancing briefly over to Toki who’s attention had been piqued at the exclamation.

“Swords? Whys do yous have swords, Olives?

_Oh, god damn it._

Olive crossed her arms and gave Murderface a stern look, cocking her hip out to the side for added effect.

“I think the better question is, _why_ were you digging around under my bed? I had those hidden for a _reason._ ”

Dark eyes shot to the door mid sentence, as footsteps resounded from the hall followed by a half-hearted knock, the door already opening as she gave her permission for entrance, thankful for the interruption.

“Olives, Murderface.” 

Skwisgaar regarded the two with questioning eyes, glancing from the guilty looking man to the obviously annoyed woman.

“Ams Toki in heres too?”

The blonde walked into her room as if he belonged there, as if he owned the place, eyes dancing around the various decor and boxes which littered the room in disarray, finally landing on the brunette on her floor.

“Ah, heres you ams. We ams having de gets togethers tonights, de groupies am startinks t- Ams dat a _snakes_ on yous neck?”

Toki positively _beamed_ back.

“Ya, ams a reallys cool snake. His names Apop- Apopofofises.”

Forcing down a laugh at the failed pronunciation, Olive turned her attention to the new comer.

“Didn’t you guys just have a party last night?”

Icey blues snapped to dark ones, pillowy lips curling up into a seductive grin as he made a point to look her over from head to toe then back again, gaze lingering on her fishnet clad legs. 

“Ja, but now we has anothers.”

“ _Right_.”

Rolling her eyes, she latched the case closed with a pointed look to the bassist, and stalked back over the piece she had hastily hung, straightening the askew frame. 

Murderface, still slightly bristled from Olive’s odd behavior, was quick to head for the door, waving his hand over his shoulder as he walked out. 

“Yeah, well, I’ll schee you homosch later, wouldn’t want to keep all my adoring fansch waiting.” 

Boots thumped lightly on the floor and Olive didn’t need to look to know it was Skwigaar and not Toki standing just barely too close, as per usual, his lip curling up in light disgust as he took in the art, an old anatomical lithograph demonstrating the points of incision for various hand, finger, foot, and toe amputations. 

“You haves such creepys taste...” His sneer deepened a bit as he noticed the music filling the room, “Ands garbage tastes in musics.”

Cold knuckles ghosted across her arm, and she fought the urge to visibly shiver, pointedly avoiding looking at him. 

“Toki, you shoulds be joininks de otters.“

Toki glanced between the pair still in the room, delicately placing the figure in his hands on the nearest shelf as he rose to his feet.

“Whats about yous guys?”

“I needs to be speakings with Olives in privates, ja?”

Toki eyed Skwisgaar suspiciously, making no move for the door.

“Whats for?”

The blonde whipped his head to shoot him an annoyed glare at the question.

“Ams about a personals medicals conskerns. Nones of yous business.”

_Medical concern my ass._

Olive could barely withhold the snort that threatened to break from her lips. _  
_

“I’ll meet up with you in a few, Toki.” 

With a last glance to her, the brunette turned to place Apophis back in his terrarium and headed for the door, leaving poor Olive alone with the persistent Swede. Reluctant to look at him for fear she would be ensnared in the depth of his cold eyes, she snatched up the hammer once more, placing the next picture hook in position and beating it into place as she addressed the man.

“So what is it? Don’t tell me you’ve managed to contract another STD since your test this morning? Or did you pull a muscle in your hand again?”

Calloused fingers running along her jaw halted all of Olive’s movements, and she begrudgingly allowed him to angle her chin to face him, cool pools of blue washing over all her senses with serenity, seeming every bit like the calm before a storm, and she struggled to keep her breath steady.

Before, Skwisgaar had been content to merely toss out innuendos and lightly flirt, seemingly amused and unaffected when she weaseled her way out of the situation, never actually giving him a straight answer about her attraction to him, but since the incident with the wolves, the guitarist seemed hellbent on having her. It was apparent he had never had to put forth much effort to coerce a woman to sleep with him, making this all the more exciting to him. His attempts to lure her to bed with him had become more frequent and more intense, and much to her chagrin, she was starting to lose her resolve. 

There was something about him, something irresistible; a primal, raw, almost otherworldly charm, beautiful and glowing, drawing in his prey with his stunning bioluminescence, only to chew them up and spit them out after he had had his fill of their body.

“Oh, _littles Olives_... It ams very cutes, hows you plays de hards to get likes dis.”

The pink haired woman scoffed, jerking her face from his grip and turning away to hide her burning cheeks, setting down her tools and yanking on her boots, deeming her oversized tshirt turned dress, falling to her mid thigh, and fishnets acceptable enough attire for the night.

“I’m not playing at anything, Skwisgaar.”

What she would have given to smack that alluring smirk right off his perfect face.

.

The music was loud, pounding thorough Olive’s skull and causing a familiar dull throb to take root on the left side of her head. Toki had gone to grab them both drinks, leaving an empty seat on each side of her on the sofa, but that had been five minutes ago, and she could see that he had been stopped on the other side of the room by... a clown?

_These parties are getting weirder and weirder._

Olive allowed her eyes to slip closed for a moment, the absence of light helping a bit to ease the aching pain. _  
_

“Yah dooin alright? Yer naht lookin so good, babe.”

Dark eyes cracked open reluctantly, trailing up to meet the green ones of the redhead standing before her.

“Yeah... Yeah. I’m fine. Just a headache.”

Pickles gave his signature lopsided grin, bloodshot eyes flickering over her, grin widening at her Tupac tee, glossy gaze lingering on the exposed portion of her thigh tattoo below the hem, and stretched out his arm to offer her an open beer. 

“Here, dis’ll help. Yah need it more than I doo. Nice shirt.”

Olive was quick to snatch the bottle from him gratefully, muttering a small ‘thanks’ and sighing in relief as she pressed the frosted glass to her head, hair dulling the cold sensation enough to make it bearable.

Pickles’ chuckle rang out and sent goosebumps up her arms as he plopped down on the couch next to her, slinging an arm over her shoulders and puling her side flush to his, the smell of booze, weed, and cigarettes which constantly clung to him mixed with his natural scent invading her nostrils and having a surprisingly calming effect on her.

“Yer suppost tah _drink it_ , babe, naht use it fer an _icepack_.”

“Yeah, well...,” Olive stuck her tongue out, flashing her tongue ring at him, scrunching up her nose and closing her eyes for added effect, “This is helping too.”

Another chuckle and crooked grin, and he leaned in close, eyes meeting hers with searing intensity and promise, voice dropping a bit with his next words.

“Yah know what else helps with headaches?”

Olive deadpanned at the insinuation, and Pickles’ smile only grew further, eyes twinkling in mirth.

“ _Asprin_.”

She couldn’t help but snort, and turned her face from hm as his chest rumbled with laughter, shaking her head and taking a swig from the bottle in her hand, attempting to ease the hot blush on her cheeks from all the ways her dirty mind had conjured for Pickles to improve her mood.

Skwisgaar hadn’t been the only one trying his luck. The drummer’s flirting was becoming more and more commonplace as the days progressed and the two became closer. Their friendship was an easy one to fall into, and the flirting was fun and lighthearted, Pickles always taking her quick comebacks with stride and coming right back with his own.

And god damn it if her Inner Fangirl wasn’t absolutely _preening_ from it all. Olive had had a giant squishy crush on Pickles ever since she had seen a recorded Snakes n’ Barrels concert in her teens, falling quickly for his cocky persona and crooked grin, not to mention how amazing he looked in those tight pants and eyeliner. That cute little celebrity crush had quickly morphed into a much more _solid_ attraction after coming face to face with the drummer and being presented with his attention.

"Dis a snake tattoo?"

Wandering fingers tracing along her inked upper thigh sent an unexpected jolt of arousal through her body, and Olive was proud to say she withheld a squeak of surprise.

"Whaat kinda snake? I don't recahgnaize it."

"Its, um, a Japanese moccasin."

"Huh, nehver herd of it."

The fingers on her thigh splayed across her heated skin as Pickles gave a light squeeze the the plump flesh there.

"Yah should show me da rest of it."

The heat congregating on Olive's cheeks as the tips of Pickle’s fingers slipped under the edge of her shirt to caress higher on her thigh would be enough to fry an egg, she was sure.

"It, ah.. it goes up pretty far."

A positively lascivious smirk from the redhead left her unable to maintain eye contact, and she took a swig from her bottle as an excused to look away.

"Yeaah. _I can tell_."

Olive could feel his eyes still on her, but a shadow falling across the pair thankfully drew his gaze away from the flustered woman.

“Pickle. Olives. Mays I sits here?” 

Any chance of ridding the blush from her cheeks was crushed as the blonde didn’t bother waiting for an answer, slinking into the empty seat on her other side, effectively sandwiching her between the two men as he settled in close enough to press his arm to hers, squishing Pickles’ other hand away from her shoulder and making the redhead readjust. The groupies who surrounded Nathan on the opposite end of the sofa looked over to squeal, and Skwisgaar turned to nod at them briefly, attention soon back on Olive, sneering lightly as he noticed the freckled hand on her leg.

At every turn she found herself between the two, each vying for her attention, caught in a nonstop flurry of heated glances and casual sensual touches, the sexual tension in the air suffocatingly palpable.

And damn them both, it was working. Luckily, she had become accustomed enough to keep her cool around them, even when faced with innuendos and lingering hands, 

It wasn’t a good idea, sleeping with either them. _Any_ of the band members, for that matter. They were her bosses, regardless of the rapidly developing friendships, and she didn’t want to risk her job after uprooting her entire life for it. And the last thing she wanted was for things to get awkward and weird.

But as Skwisgaar and Pickles eyed each other, blue eyes clashing with green, she couldn’t help but feel that was now inevitable. Olive was _far_ from a saint, and expecting herself to maintain unaffected in such an environment, surrounded by attractive musicians trying to seduce her... _well._

Eventually, something was going to give 

.

This was not a good idea. 

Not at all, in any way, shape or form, was this a good idea.

Yet here Olive was, allowing herself to be led through the winding stone halls of Mordhaus to Skwisgaar Swigelf's bedroom. 

Between the copious amounts of booze and weed courtesy of Pickles, her mind was fuzzy, body tingly. There was no hope of her ever being able to keep up with the band as far as drinking and drugs went, what with her head being the way it was, she was more susceptible to inebriation than the average person, let alone _fucking rock stars_.  

But she had tried, at least at first, to hang, but had ended up cutting herself off long before Skwisgaar himself had stopped, Pickles having never ceased his constant intake. She was far from being the most intoxicated she had ever been, still aware enough to walk without stumbling and vision steady, but effected enough to throw caution to the wind and say _screw being responsible, I’m going to fuck Skwisgaar Skwigelf._

To his credit, once the pair were alone in the hall, away from the dwindling party and the passed out redhead on the couch, the blonde had stopped her, looking deep into her eyes and asking if she was sober enough to be able to remember this in the morning.

“I plans to fucks you betters dan anyone evers has, there amnst any points to dis if you wonts be remembrinks it.”

After Olive managed to choke out an affirmative, touched by the gesture, having not expected such a sweet sentiment from the most renowned womanizer in the world, he had once again offered her his hand, his long legs insuring he was half dragging the shorter woman through the corridor.

The door to his quarters had barely closed as long fingers gently grasped either side of her face, tilting her head as his lean form towered over her, blonde locks cascading around them both, curtaining them from the rest of the world as velvety lips moulded to hers.

Skwisgaar kissed like the protagonist of a bodice ripper romance novel, slow and sensual but still filled with a deep, insatiable hunger for more, hands cupping Olive’s cheeks to steady her, and much to her own dismay, she felt herself becoming weak kneed from the treatment, hot flames of lust spreading out from her center and licking through her limbs, goosebumps overtaking her flesh.

All coherent thought had flown from Olive’s mind, brain consumed with the man stealing her breath with the glide of silky lips and exploring tongue and nipping teeth, and she barely registered that he was backing her up to the bed until she was pressed down by her shoulders. One of the Swede’s knees wedged between her own, sliding up to provide a delicious pressure to the ache at the apex of her thighs as he hovered over her, swallowing down a rather embarrassing moan from the woman beneath him as his tongue traced the roof of her mouth.

Skwsigaar pulled away, and Olive was nearly ashamed at the way her mouth followed him in an attempt to keep his lips on hers. The blonde knelt back and gathered his golden hair to one side, licking along his lips as he took in her flustered state; her lips shiny and red and swollen from his attention, a deep, dark blush starting at her temples and spreading down her face and neck, disappearing under the collar of her shirt.

Speaking of which, that _desperately_ needed to be removed.

Cold fingers drifted up Olive’s fishnet covered thighs, tracing lightly along the edge of her top, and it dawned on her with a start that _her dagger harness was still strapped to her thigh._

But it was entirely too late to stop the expertly wandering hands as they pushed up the hem, stopping short as they uncovered the black leather affixed to her leg, Skwisgaar’s face morphing from one of sensual hunger to confusion as he glanced up to meet her gaze.

“Yous, uh... carries a knife withs you?”

“Um, yeah. Y’now, just in case I need it.” 

The only thing Olive could think to do was reach down and unbuckle the strap, sitting up to toss it over the edge of the mattress, stripping off her shirt while she was already upright. Blue eyes were immediately drawn to her bare chest, breasts full and mouthwatering, and trailed down the curves of her soft stomach and plump thighs, her body lightly padded though he could still make out the defined muscles hiding underneath. 

Skwisgaar shook off the concerning discovery, deciding there were much more important matters at hand, like the two peaked, pierced nipples before him.

Calloused fingertips danced across her ribs, outlining the wing of her Nekhbet sternum tattoo, and traveled to caress the swell of her breasts with a feather light touch as his eyes darkened once more, eliciting a whimper from Olive, and he pressed her further back onto the plush bed, the fur blanket tickling against her exposed skin as he bowed his head to mouth at her neck, tongue tracing her pulse. His lips brushed lower and lower down the column of her throat, searing her skin with his touch, grazing over her collarbone and finally meeting his fingertips at her breast.

Olive inhaled sharply as the warmth of his mouth chased away the chill of his hands, back arching in an attempt to press further into his touch. A deep groan rumbled from Skwisgaar’s chest as he fluttered his tongue along her tan skin, teeth latching onto the metal bar and tugging lightly, drawing a wanton moan from her plush lips as her hips moved of their own accord, rocking up to grind herself against his knee, desperate for friction at her core.

"Skwisgaar..."

He made sure to lavish each mound with ample attention, not moving on until Olive was a writhing, squirming, panting mess under his touch. With quick hands he glided her tights over her round hips, hooking onto her black underwear and pulling them down as well, sitting back on his heels and lifting her legs to slide them off one foot, kissing along her calf as he rid her of the garments fully.

Smouldering, icey eyes flashed up to her as lips pressed to her ankle, planting open mouthed kisses up her calf while golden locks tickled against her legs, the ends grazing against her thigh and causing her to squirm. Long fingers stroked up her heated skin to trace over her damp folds, slipping between them just enough to tease and draw a long whine from Olive before removing them again in favor of groping her thigh, thumb pressing into the muscle where leg met pelvic bone and massaging.

“Mmm... stop teasing me...”

She felt more than saw his lips curl into a smirk, and yelped lightly as his teeth nipped at her.

“Ja? Tells to me whats you wants, den.”

Olive chewed her lip as a hot swell of arousal coursed though her body at his suggestion, and she opened her mouth to speak, but no words came to her.

Skwisgaar outright laughed at her for this, mocking and haughty, and brought his thumb up to ghost over the wetness leaking from her core, spreading it over her outer folds, touch barely there yet still setting her on fire as her hips bucked up in desperate need for more pressure.

The Swede ‘tsk’ed at her, rising to his feet to rid himself of his own restraining clothing, taking his sweet time and enjoying her gaze trailing his every move as he stripped, especially the way her eyes lit up as his cock was revealed.

_It was perfect._

Olive wasn’t sure what else she had been expecting, but she still found herself mesmerized by the erect member as Skwisgaar gave a few lazy strokes. The size was fairly average, the shaft curving up in a gentle slope, a  mouth watering champagne happy trail leading down to small crop of soft, neatly kept blonde curls at the base, the smooth, pale skin fading to a soft pink gradient as it approached the plush head.

He was _picturesque,_ standing before her with his lustrous flaxen hair falling in perfect waves, the pale skin stretched over his lithe form seeming to glow in the dim light of his room, impeccable cock standing at attention, ready and waiting patiently to send her to oblivion. 

One could mistake him for an angel, if not for the conceited smirk on his face.

“Likings whats you sees, ja?”

_Yeah. Definitely not angelic._

Gracefully climbing on top of her, Skwisgaar leaned in close, bumping the tip of his nose to hers, one hand planted next to her head supporting his weight while the other rubbed the tip of his cock softly against her lower lips, paying special care to her clit and sending shocks of pleasure through her veins.

“Yous wants dis in yous?” _  
_

Olive whimpered and nodded, still too overcome with the need to be filled to form a coherent sentence, and Skwisgaar laughed at her again.

“Says it, or yous gets no’ting.”

Gulping hard to move the lump in her throat, she managed to collect her bearings enough to find her voice.

“Skwisgaar, _please._ I need you to fuck me before I lose my _god damn_ mind.”

“See? Not sos hards, ams it?” _  
_

A swift roll of his hips was all it took, and Olive had to grasp his shoulders to steady herself as the tip slipped finally, _blissfully_ into her soaked, needy pussy, her moan of approval mixing with a soft groan from the blonde as her natural lubricant allowed him to thrust in to her tight heat with ease, her silken walls quivering around him as he pulled out, only to plunge back in with more fervor, sheathing himself fully and circling his hips as her legs wrapped around his hips, toes curled in pleasure.

A pale arm snaked it’s way under the curve of her lower back, lifting her torso slightly to provide a better angle as he began to rock into her slow and steady, making sure Olive could feel every inch of his cock sliding against her insides.

_God._

_Oh god._

It was unbelievable. It couldn’t be real, the way Skwisgaar’s cock was making her feel just from _this_ , from basic, slow _missionary_ , of all things. He thrust into her as if he had known her body for years, tip of his cock angled expertly to press deliciously into her gspot, his pelvic bone rubbing against her clit in just the right way. He had barely touched her, barely done anything, yet her body was reacting as if he had been edging her for hours, and she felt an orgasm approaching fast, blindingly, _ridiculously_ fast, her blood molten and flaming as it coursed through her veins, the coil in her lower abdomen pulled taught ready to snap.

All it took was soft lips pressed to her ear, a derisive voice muttering, “Goings tos come fors me alreadys? _How cutes_.” and Olive was sent catapulting over the edge, walls griping his cock hard and milking the still thrusting member in vain, muscles convulsing as her head was tossed back in bliss.

“Holy _fuck_ , Skwisgaar...”

The Swede graciously stalled his movements, giving her a moment to catch her breath as he sat back on his heels, shit eating grin on his face as he thumbed her throbbing clit slowly, making her jolt and clamp her walls around his cock.

This was, of course, the worst possible moment for the door to slam open, and both of their heads snapped to the interruption, eyes wide, Olive still panting and impaled on Skwisgaar’s cock.

“Schkwischgaar, isch Olive... Oh, _schit_!”

One look at Murdeface’s hand holding a cloth saturated with deep red to his thigh, dripping blood onto the pristine floor was all it took to snap Olive into action, and she bolted up on shaky legs, snatching her shirt off the floor and yanking it on, hurrying to the shell shocked Murderface and kneeling down to inspect the wound, leaving a wide eyed, unsatisfied Skwisgaar on the bed.

 _“Moidaface, what de fucks?_ Yous interruptinks, gets out!” _  
_

“What? Fuck you, _I’m fucking bleeding to death over here!”_

Olive scowled at their bickering, standing and turning Murderface by his shoulders to push him from the room. 

“Fucking hell, come on, go to my room, this is going to need stitches. What happened? ”

Murderface had the decency to look sheepish, avoiding eye contact as they slipped into the hallway, followed by a scowling Skwisgaar who was using the fur blanket as a make shift robe, blood still oozing from the wound trailing them down the hall, staining the slate stones a deep red.

“I, uh... I was juscht, you know... Schtabbing schome schtuff, and uh, I misched and got my leg on acshident.“

Olive gave the limping man an incredulous look.

"You stabbed _yourself_?”

The trio reached her room quickly, and she grabbed the large first aid kit which she kept stoked with medium injury supplies as well, instructing Murderface to sit in the desk chair, a sulking, irritated Skwisgaar plopping down on her bed to wait.

Setting the kit on the desktop and popping the latch, Olive snapped on some gloves, removing the peroxide, betadine, and lidocaine, rapidly cleaning and disinfecting the area before numbing it, then threading the needle, much to the horror of the injured man.

“Oh, _jeschusch_ , you’re really juscht gonna schew me up right here?”

“Unless you _want_ to pass out from blood loss, yes.”

Startled voices from the hall drew Skwisgaar’s attention, and he further deflated as a wasted Pickles and Toki both barged into the room. He was _never_ going to get off tonight.

“Dood, whats wit’ all da blood?” Pickles was slurring a bit, eyes redder than they had been all night as they glanced between Olive, with her mussed hair and kissed-pink lips, and the fully naked Swede draped only in a fur blanket on her bed.

“Ams you okays, Olives?”

Toki was by her side in an instant, concerned and looking her over to make sure she wasn’t the source of the blood trail that had drawn them in from the hall.

“Really? _I’m_ the one that’sch bleeding here! _Sche’sch_ fine! OW! Jeschusch, I thought you _numbed_ thisch schit?!”

Olive had taken the opportunity of the distraction to begin stitching the wound up, but had missed her mark as Murderface shifted, poking him out of the range of the numbing agent.

“If you would hold still it wouldn’t hurt. _Stop squirming_.”

“Guys... what the _fuck_ is everyone yelling about in here? I’m trying to get laid and all we can hear- is... is that _blood_?”

A shirtless Nathan had appeared in the doorway as well, taking in the scene before him; a bleeding and whining Murderface in the desk chair with Olive kneeling before him sewing his leg shut, Toki watching with curious eyes, and a very annoyed, pouting Skwisgaar lounging on the bed, clad only in white fur, trying to ignore the glare he was being leveled with by a very drunk, lightly swaying on his feet Pickles.

“I’m, uh, I’m just gonna... gonna go back to bed. You guys, uh, have fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not entirely happy with this one, but I still put a lot of effort in. At least Olive finally got some dick!  
> Please let me know what you think, I crave the validation.


	7. Chapter 7 Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blehh yeah so it's been like 5 months since the last update? Oopsie.
> 
> Life got hectic, I stopped taking my meds, i switched positions at work, I got married! 
> 
> I've just been writing and writing and next thing I knew this chapter was 10,000 words, so I decided to split it. Part 2 will be up later tonight!
> 
> Please check the tags, as they have changed. There's a bit of blood and violence in this one, but nothing too extreme.

Dark, heavy clouds hung low across the night sky, ominous and foreboding as Olive crept through the trees to the small cottage at the center clearing, it's light casting a comforting warmth which cut through the surrounding night, beaming just slightly into the forestline where the shadows were quick to consume the glow.

The oncoming rain was both a blessing and a curse for Olive's objective; the pitter patter of drops would muffle any slight sound she may make, as well as wash away any liquid evidence, but the wetness would cling to her, drip off and leave a trail, make the ground soft and susceptible to footprints, make her feet slick and slippery. 

Yes, it would be best to make her move before the downpour began. 

A brilliant flash of lightning flooded the trees, both chasing away and elongating the shadows for a brief instant as Olive pressed herself further against the bark behind her, her blacked out clothes and dark hair making blending in no hard task.

_One Mississippi… two Mississippi… thre-_

Booming thunder rattled the windows of the cottage loud enough for Olive to hear, and she knew now was the time.

The cameras posted along the perimeter of the house provided no hindrance as she had mapped out the blind spots in their rotation the previous day. It was a small window of time to pass through, and she had to be perfect in her execution, but then, when did she not?

Fixing her eyes on the dark bathroom window, Olive counted the seconds, sprinting on silent feet to slip in the gap, popping open the window with ease due to the broken latch that her target _just hadn't gotten around to fixing yet,_ and slithered inside, stepping lightly onto the back of the toilet as she slid the glass back into place. Her timing could not have been more perfect, for as soon as the pane was secured, the heavens opened, spilling a torrential downpour onto the land, another flash of lightning illuminating the sky.

Olive approached the cracked door with silent steps, closing her eyes and listening to every small sound in the home; the quiet laughter of two adults, the creak of old floorboards as one of them walked to the kitchen, the rattling of the window panes in the wind, the crackle of a fireplace, the soft hum of overplayed top 40 pop music. Face morphing into a scowl of distaste, Olive crept slowly, silently, deliberately into the short hallway, coalescing with the shadows, ducking down as the hall opened to the living area, using the reflection of the hibernating television to locate her prey, pouring a drink at the kitchen counter, back turned to the room. 

Perfect.

The man tensed as a sharp blade pressed to his neck, eyes shooting up to take in the reflection of a dark haired girl in the microwave before him, face obscured by a black leather surgical mask. A scream was heard from the couch as the woman ducked behind it.

"They sent the Salmusa for me, huh? Such a compliment, I'm honored."

Olive scoffed, pressing the blade of the dagger a bit harder, just enough to break skin and allow a few droplets of blood free. 

"You have no claim to any honor, Traven. Your betrayal has cost dozens of my colleagues their lives."

The man sighed, body relaxing a bit.

"I would say you don't have to do this, that you can just walk away. But I know you won't listen. I know what I did was right. Just, please… leave my family be. They are innocent in this."

Olive rolled her eyes. 

_Typical_.

"If you have last words, speak them now. Take comfort in the fact that I shall give you a quicker death than you deserve."

The man sighed, addressing the woman across the room.

"Marta?"

"Trav…"

"Marta. I love you, and I am sorry for dragging our family into this mess. Tell Trenton I love him. Do not weep for me, for I die having done what is right."

The woman, Marta, let out a deep, anguished sob as Olive sliced through the meaty flesh to sever his jugular vein, blood spewing forth to coat the countertops as he gurgled his final breaths, his corpse sinking to the floor once she released her hold. 

The storm had built into a rage, wind whipping the trees with sheets of rainfall, and the power flickered once, then cut out completely, the only light now coming from the fireplace. Olive supposed this had given Marta a false sense of hope that she would be able to hide, as the woman had taken off down the hall and ducked into a room.

But oh, how wrong she was.

Taking a steady breath, Olive activated her night vision, pupils widening to the extreme to accommodate as her implants went to work to decipher the limited info her brain was receiving.

This time, she didn't bother with stealth, the woman was no match for her and they both knew it. Cracking open the creaky door, Olive's heart dropped as she realized it was a child's bedroom.

It didn't take much to find her prey hiding under the bed, what looked to be a boy no older than ten clutched tightly in the woman's arms. Olive crouched down, grabbing her by the shirt to yank her out as she screeched.

"Marta, Marta, Marta… I wish you hadn't come in here. If you had let the boy sleep, I could have spared him. But you have signed his death sentence, I can leave no witnesses."

The woman's eyes widened in horrific realization, and she fell to her knees to beg.

"Please… you are the… the _cyborg_ assassin, right?" Marta eyed the smooth, shiny surface of the left side of Olive's head with hope as she choked on a sob, "I have heard of you… of your, of your _mercy_ . I beg of you... _please do not kill my child!"_

Cyborg assassin.

Olive _hated_ that nickname.

A swift flick of her blade was all it took, and the woman was silenced forever.

Dark eyes shot to the edge of the bed where the child sat sobbing on the floor, gaze stuck on the sight of his mother bleeding out before him.

 _Mercy_.

Killing him now would be mercy, better than living the rest of his life with nightmares of this night. But…

Olive couldn't help but to see herself in this kid, having witnessed the tragic murder of a parent at too young an age. 

And she was the cause. She was doing this to another child, ruining their life and any chance at a normal existence.

Creating another her.

Her heart panged with guilt.

"Trenton, was it?"

The child's eyes shot up to hers, equally as dark, and where she had expected to see fear, there was only rage.

" _Fuck you._ "

Olive was taken aback, to say the very least. 

"Uh…"

The child rose to his feet, placing himself between her and his mother's corpse, standing steady and tall, face contorting in anger.

"Get out of here, you fucking _monster_!"

She shouldn't leave a witness. She shouldn't leave him alive. She should give him a mercy killing, spare him a life of grief. But as she stared into those eyes which held so much hate, hate for her and what she had done to his family, the only thing Olive could do was turn and flee the scene of the crime with a heart heavy from guilt, mind flooded with memories she wished she could forget.

 

.

 

"Olives… Olives! Wake ups!"

Said woman gasped loudly, sucking in a deep breath as she shot straight up from her position in bed, and would have collided head first with Skwisgaar had her reflexes not taken over and halted her movement. 

"I... what? Huh?"

The blonde observed her with apprehensive blue eyes as her brain struggled to separate the nightmare from her current reality.  

"Yous were cryings… and screamings."

Dark eyes blinked at him then averted to the side as she harshly rubbed the tears from her cheeks in embarrassment. 

"Oh. Uh, yeah, right. Sorry."

"Ja… It ams fine. You, eugh… ams alright, nows?"

Olive cleared her throat and met his stare, his gaze uneasy, regarding her as if he was waiting for her to break into sobs at a moments notice, looking every bit like he would rather Charles burst through the door and declare Toki the lead guitarist in his place over comforting a crying bed partner.

Luckily for him, molting into a blubbering mess in Skwisgaar Skwigelf’s arms was not on her to-do list for the morning.

"Yeah. Totally... totally fine. Absolutely."

Silence hung heavy and thick in the air as the Swede eyed her with both relief and skepticism, and she was worried for a moment that he would pry, but he thankfully didn't pursue the conversation further. Olive cleared her throat again, giving him a smile that more closely resembled a grimace. 

"Um, good morning?"

As was to be expected, Skiwsgaar didn’t hang around for morning cuddles.

The previous night had been… weird, to say the least. After Murderface had been all patched up and the crowd in Olive’s room finally disbanded, the two had found themselves staring rather awkwardly at each other, the previous smooth, easy atmosphere having been blown out of the water. Skwisgaar had managed to shake it off rather admirably though, and proceeded to continue to rock her world for the next few hours, the both of them passing out sweaty and spent in each others arms.

But despite the hours of mind bending pleasure, after the mortification of her wakeup call, Olive's mood was soured beyond repair, and knowing her brain's insistence on bringing forth that _particular_ memory was enough to cause a headache to linger for the rest of the day didn't help to brighten her spirits.

She had followed him back to his room shrouded in brooding silence and feeling utterly disgusting, sticky with sweat from the night and morning, dried cum crumbling on her inner thighs as she walked, and she was pretty sure there was some crusted in her hair as well. The blonde graciously avoided any conversation and left the woman to her thoughts, only sparing her a glance and an awkward pat on the back before he settled back on his bed with his guitar, plucking away at the strings as she collected her fishnets, panties, and dagger from his floor.

"We should does dis again somestimes, ja?"

“Uh. Yeah. Definitely.”

 

.

 

Olive wasn’t the only one who had been plagued by nightmares that night, it seemed.

After popping a Depakote for her headache, attending to Apophis, taking her time in the shower to scrub away the various bodily fluids, and throwing on some clothes; a baggy Exorcist t-shirt tucked into a fitted black skirt which fell to her mid thigh, waist cinched in with a belt, opaque black stockings that left a couple inches of skin between them and her skirt, and her signature boots, topped with a thick black choker with a silver hoop dangling down, and a flannel to ward off the chill of the stone haus. Olive made her way through the halls for breakfast/lunch/early dinner (whatever the first meal of the day served at 3pm could be considered), to find the band already gathered around the table finishing off their meals, some already a few beers deep.

Skillfully avoiding eye contact with everyone, she plopped down in the only empty seat(which was thankfully the farthest one from Skwisgaar) and snatched a clump of grapes from the family-style array of breakfast foods set up in the center of the table, tuning in to Nathan’s rendition of his own nighttime mental affliction. 

“I just. I don’t know, guys. I think I, uh, I need to try to get my GED. Like, seriously this time. These dreams won’t go away, I can’t get any sleep.”

Groans were heard around the table, and Olive popped a grape into her mouth, cringing a bit at the sourness, her interest piqued. Nathan didn't graduate?

“Augh, not thisch again!”

“Dude, who cares? Yer famous _and_ rich, dats the only reason people even go ta school anyway.”

Nathan growled deeply in frustration, and she felt it reverberate through her very being, tingles flowing through her veins. 

It should be a crime for someone to make a sound that attractive during breakfast conversation.

“I know, I know! But, like, this is. Like a personal thing. Or something. I, uh, I don’t know, I just need to do it. For myself. To prove I’m not dumb.”

“But hows ya gonna do it? The nice tutor ladys what helped you studys last time didn’t work. And none of us could helps ya none eithers.”

Yanking another orb from the stem, Olive's eyes flitted to the frontman, now slouching forward, elbows propped on the table, forehead resting in his palm. Poor guy seemed totally defeated. 

“Yeah, Toki... You’re right. Fuck. I need someone else. Someone, uh… smarter. Huh. Who do we know that’s smart?”

Olive froze, grape halfway to her open mouth, as all eyes in the room turned to her.

“...what?”

 

.

 

The Mordhaus library was everything Olive had ever dreamed of, with it’s impossibly high ceiling and multiple floors containing rows and rows and towers and towers of books ranging from every subject imaginable. 

It was heaven.

And she wanted to strangle Charles for not having mentioned it to her before. 

Nathan was settled opposite her at a polished mahogany table, math books, scratch paper, and a calculator spread out before him as he slouched back in his chair, long dark locks cascading behind him as he grunted in frustration, the rest of the band spread out through the large room, having insisted on joining them for “moral support" though they were only really fucking around, giggling to eachother over any random book they could find that was even remotely inappropriate.

“Ugggh this is so _stupid_! Why do I even need to know this?”

Olive sighed in exasperation, pinching the bridge of her nose.

This was _not_ helping her headache.

“You need to know it because the government says you do.”

Nathan sat up angrily at that, glowering at her, brow low and eyes shadowed, defined jaw muscles tensed, as if she was the one who created standardized test requirements just to piss him off.

For a second she thought he might just flip the whole table.

“ _Fuck the government_.”

She returned his attempt at intimidation with an apathetic, deadpan expression.

“Yeah. I _agree_ . But _you’re_ the one who wants to do this, to get your GED. And algebra is part of that. So stop whining and pay attention, and maybe you’ll actually learn something.”

The brunette visibly deflated, despondency replacing his anger as he gripped the sides of his head.

“This is pointless. Uggggh… I’m too stupid. I’m never gonna be able to learn this… this math stuff. I fucking quit.”

Well, shit. Way to pull at her heart strings.

“Nathan… Come on. Don’t say that.”

Green eyes flashed to hers.

“You’re not stupid, ok? You just don’t learn the same as other people. I don’t either. There’s nothing wrong with that. We just… have to find something that works for you.”

Nathan sat up straighter, broad form casting a shadow in the low light, and eyed her with thought.

“Huh. I guess that makes sense. That, uh, you know, since I'm not like regular jack offs, that my brain doesn’t work the same as theirs.”

Olive gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile, reaching out to give his large hand a soft squeeze in support.

And oh, his hands were _so big_.

Mentally shooing away the thoughts of what those thick fingers would feel like shoved inside of her, she cleared her throat, scrambling to compose herself as heat bubbled through her body.

“That’s a great way to look at it, man. You can do this. I believe in you.”

Nathan grumbled something unintelligible, averting his eyes, a soft pink tinting his cheeks at her words, and Olive beamed.

_Damn. He’s so cute._

 

.

 

Hours later, the pair had decided neither of them could take any more studying for the night and had gathered the rest of the band members who were strung about the library, setting off for the rec room. 

Olive allowed herself to trail at the back of the group as they walked through the cold halls, footsteps padding along the stone floor, Nathan and Murderface chattering away in some silly argument she had long since tuned out of. The hair on the back of her neck was standing on end, her eyes shifting along every shadow in the dimly lit hall.

Something wasn't right. She could feel it.

And just as that thought crossed her mind, a shadow of a man stepped out from around the upcoming corner. His eyes were wide open, _too wide_ , the whites bloodshot and visible in a ring around his irises, with a too-wide, face splitting grin to match. The band had stopped in their progression, Olive catching up to the back of the group quickly, taking the place to Murderface's right. 

"Who the fuck are you?"

The man only smiled wider at Nathan, and Olive could see the sweat breaking out on his face. 

"Finally… you don't know how _long_ I've waited for this… to meet _you,_ Nathan… to meet our ends _together_!"

Yikes. That wasn’t a good sign.

“Jeschusch chrischt, who let this dick in here?”

Murderface had inched a bit closer and slightly in front of her as he spoke, nearly blocking Olive’s view of the deranged man. Nearly, but not quite. The pit of dread in her stomach solidified, adrenaline began to pump through her veins as she noticed the splattering of blood on the bottom of the man’s pants and shoes.

Oh. That _really_ wasn’t a good sign. 

"Yeah… Can you, uhh, get out of our way? We're, uh, we're kinda walking somewhere...."

Her eyes focused in on the twitch of the man’s fingers before he moved to shakily withdraw a pistol from his coat, arm steadying as he pointed it front and center at Nathan.

Various cries of alarm rang out and echoed off the stone walls as the group shifted back a step, Murderface quickly flinging out an arm and shoving Olive behind him protectively.  

It was sweet. 

_Completely_ unnecessary, but still sweet nonetheless. 

A familiar calm resolve settled over her as she glanced around, scrutinizing the distances between her, the various band members, and the walls, calculating the silence and swiftness she would need to move and approach the man without his notice. 

_Damn. So much for laying low._

Taking advantage of everyone's attention directed at the crazed fan, it was all too easy for her to slither into the shadows with none the wiser. 

"Look, I uh, I get it, you're, like, a huge fan and all. That's so cool, _really_ cool. Right guys?" Nathan glanced back as the rest of the group nervously muttered their agreement. The man was too far away for him to punch without being shot first, and, even though he was sure he could take it, he didn't want to risk the dude actually hitting something vital. 

Dying from a murder suicide by a crazy fan would be brutal, sure, but still. Not how he wanted to go. 

So the only option was to try to talk him down and hope that a Klokateer would show up soon. 

"Yeh, dood, everythin's all cool here…  hey, how aboot… how aboot you go ahead an' put dat away, an' you come hang out with us? Dat'd be cool, right? Hangin' out with Dethklok."

"Y-yeah, there'sch an idea, Picklesh!  Letsch justcht forget all about thisch, and we can all go pal around, play schome video gamesch, or, or schomething…"

The man’s face dropped, frown morphing his features into alarming severity. The band gulped as a whole.

“No… No no no no NO! That’s not how this is supposed to happen!”

The metallic click rang loudly, ominously, as the man’s finger shifted to pull the trigger, his face contorting with a manic smile..

“Goodbye, Nathan, I’ll see you soon...”

The band braced themselves.

But instead of the deafening echo of a gunshot, they were met with the sound of splattering blood and the wet, sticky gurgling of the crazed fan as he slumped to his knees, his throat slit open and spewing deep red blood as he looked to Nathan’s shocked eyes, grin replaced by an expression of horrified realization.

Standing in his place was Olive, bloodied dagger in hand as she placed one foot unceremoniously on the man’s shoulder, kicking him forward, a sickening crack resounding through the air as his skull thudded on the stone floor, blood now pooling out slowly from his prone form as he twitched his last movements.

Palpable silence consumed those present.

And then broke all at once.

"Oh, _wowee_!"

“H _oly shit, dood_! Yah just _killed_ dat guy!”

“When did you even get over there? You were juscht behind me a schecond ago!”

“What the fuck. _What the fuck_.”

Olive smiled sheepishly, glancing to each man briefly, their expressions ranging from shock to mild fear to gratitude. 

But, most surprisingly of all, they all looked… _horny_.

And if she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn their eyes flashed red for a moment. A trick of the light, probably. Or her implants glitching. 

Yeah, probably that. Definitely.

Though the thick, heady atmosphere settling over the group had her believing otherwise.

“Um. Yeah. Guess I should’ve left him alive for questioning, huh?”

With a flick of her wrist, the blood dripping from her blade flung to the floor, and she stepped forward, gingerly plucking the end of the corpse’s sleeve and using it to wipe off the residual gore from the metal, trying to ignore the feeling of being devoured by five pairs of eyes.

It was at that moment that Stalkateer rounded the corner, gun in hand and raised, followed closely by Charles, the two stopping short at the scene before them, shoulders relaxing a bit after realizing the threat was no more.

“Boys, thank goodness. I’m glad to see you’re all, ah, alright. The guards in this area were all found dead, we came as soon as we could.”

His eyes roamed the carnage, taking in the bloody body and knife still in Olive’s grasp, landing on her with suspicion.

“What ah, what seems to have happened here?” 

Olive pushed up the side of her skirt, sliding her clean-enough-for-now dagger into the holster strapped to her upper thigh, and rocked back on her heels, hands clasping behind her back, the absolute picture of innocence.

“I, um, killed an intruder?”

“Yes. I can see that.”

Charles cleared his throat, eyeing the abnormally silent band.

“Perhaps we should take this to the meeting room. All of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character development woo!!! No smut in this chapter, but dont worry, its like half of the next one ;)


	8. Chapter 7 Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the previous one were posted on mobile, I'll tidy up the formatting when I get a chance!

They were all staring at her.

Restlessly grinding the inside of her teeth with the ball of her tongue ring, Olive shifted uncomfortably on her chair, fiddling with the corner of her flannel. Being the center of attention was _not_ her forte, much preferring to stick to the shadows.

Even just in this small setting, surrounded by people she would venture to call her friends, being in the spotlight made her want to _run_.

Especially under the current circumstances, now that her biggest secret was out in the open. Well. _One_ of her biggest secrets, that is. But she had a feeling _that_ pot of tea was about to be spilled as well.

“Soooo…”

Her pathetic attempt to start the conversation trailed off, and she glanced around the room. 

To her right, Toki, who seemed equal parts amazed and confused. Then Murderface next to him, who, to be quite honest, looked down right love struck, staring dreamily at her with a light blush tinting his cheeks. Across from him, Skwisgaar, guitar in his hands but his fingers still, expression strange, like he was seeing her for the first time. Nathan next, resembling a child in a candy store, ready to burst with excitement. Pickles, across from her, with that goddamn grin, eyes shining in amusement and interest. Stalkateer, hovering to the corner of the able, countenance unknowable through his hood.

And Charles, at the head of the table, leveling her with a hard visage befitting of a father scolding a child caught in a lie. Irritated. Harsh. Scary.

But with the slightest hint of intrigue twinkling through his eyes.

She wasn’t going to lie, he looked _oh so good_ with that air of sterness, and she halfway hoped he’d dismiss the rest of the band and bend her over his knee for withholding information from him.

The cotton of her panties was dampening just thinking about it. 

Shit. Now was _not_ the time.

 _Focus_.

Tapping her nails on the polished wood, she did her best to address the bespectacled man without drooling from her rampantly x-rated imagination.

"Right. Um. Yeah. So, I never mentioned that I was an assassin before working at the morgue? Hehe, _whoops_..."

Toki was the first to respond, nearly vibrating in his seat next to her.

"Assassins? Oh wowee~ yous really killeds people Olives?"

"Um. yeah."

Nathan leaned forward in his seat, a large grin softening his sharp features and sending her heart straight to the fucking moon with its cuteness.

"Whoah. Oh my god. You, uh… you cut people open when they're dead _and_ alive? That's so _hot_."

Charles cleared his throat, knowing exactly where that line of thinking was going to lead the conversation.

"I'm, ah, afraid I'm going to need you to be more specific. Who did you work for? When did you stop? Is there anyone that would be coming after you for revenge? I'm not going to put the band in danger for your sake."

Stalkateer snorted a laugh, and every head in the room turned to him, Charles's eyes widening in surprise from the outburst of his normally professional, unflappable subordinate.

"Forgive me, my lords. It is merely laughable to think that anyone who didn't have a deathwish would purposefully seek out the Salmusa."

Olive couldn't help but grin. 

"Well. Seems my reputation precedes me. How did you figure it out?"

"When assisting you with moving. I had heard tale of the craftsmanship of your katana, it was easy to recognize."

The rest of the room looked between her and the hooded man in confusion.

"Wait wait wait. What the fuck isch a Schal… Schaalmuscha?"

Focusing back to her explanation, Olive fiddled with the ends of her hair as everyone eyed her curiously. 

"Its um, a snake. A Japanese Moccasin. And my main alias."

"Wait, den dat tattoo on yer leg..."

Glancing up to Pickles through her lashes, she fought off a blush at the memory of his wandering hand on her thigh from the night before, heat pooling in her abdomen as he held her gaze with twinkling eyes.

"Yeah."

"Nice."

The boyish grin he sent her way made her heart palpitate, and she took a deep breath, forcing her eyes back to Charles as he began to speak. 

" _Main_ alias? Meaning you ah, have others?"

"Yeah… Olive is my legal name now, but it's not my original name. And, um, the other…"

Olive trailed off, _really_ not wanting to bring this up and add to the length of this meeting, but all eyes were on her still, and Charles's gaze was unrelenting. 

"Yes?"

Luckily, Stalkateer spoke up for her. 

"The Cyborg Assassin. Although, it's well known that using _that_ name will get you killed."

The room was dead silent. 

And then…

_"Cyborg?!"_

"You've been a fucking robot thisch whole time?"

"Dood… _holy shit._ "

She couldn't do this. Uh-uh, no way. It was too much too fast, her head was _pounding_ , and her mind was running a mile a minute, memories of a motorcycle and a beautiful boy with dark hair and too much alcohol and rain and how pretty the city lights had looked reflected in the wet pavement and the headlights and the darkness and and and

Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, throat constricting, vision blurring and unfocused, face hot, mouth dry, heart thudding loudly in her ears, god she _couldn't fucking breath-_

"Hey, Olive. Yah okay? Yer lookin' kinda pale..."

Olive abruptly stood up, chair legs scraping loudly against the floor, making everyone jump lightly. 

"I'm, uh, I'm gonna go, go take a smoke break. Yeah. I'll be back in a few."

With that, she was gone, leaving a room of gaping mouths and wide eyes behind her. 

"Well, that was, ah… _insightful_."

Charles straightened his tie and sighed, irritated at her sudden rude departure in the middle of the meeting. 

The rest of the band was surprisingly speechless, the only sound in the room that of Skwisgaar's rapid string plucking as everyone attempted to process what had just been revealed. 

With a light clearing of his throat, Pickles stood up, grabbing his current beer and an unopened one, and headed for the door. 

"Where're you going?"

"Piss."

"With, uh, two beers?"

Pickles didn't bother looking back at Nathan, just waving over his shoulder as he walked through the doorway, turning the direction Olive had left in(which was, of course, the exact opposite way from the bathroom) and following the skunky smell of weed down a few turns of the corridor, finding the pink haired woman curled up on the floor in a corner, knees tucked to her chest as she puffed at a joint. 

Grunting lightly, Pickles lowered himself to the floor next to her(he wasn't as limber as he used to be, sue him), expertly popping off the bottle cap on the stone wall and handing her the beer, which she took without a word, passing him the joint in return as she downed half the bottle in one swig.

"Easy dere, tiger…"

Olive scoffed, wiping her cheeks to rid herself of her previous tears, hot anger and embarrassment flushing her face at being caught crying twice in one day. 

Taking a long drag off the joint, Pickles groaned, head dropping back to rest against the wall as smoke billowed from his mouth.

"Fuck, dis is tasty. Where'd yah get it?"

Thankful that he didn't address her running away like a scared child, Olive took a deep, shuddering breath to calm herself 

"One of the Klokateers hooked me up, he's growing in his closet."

Pickles raised a pierced brow, eyes lighting up, playful grin taking over his features. 

"Dood, no way! Yah mean one of dese fuckers has been holdin' out on me? Yeesh, so much fer employee loyalty."

The tension broke as he passed the joint back to her, and Olive gave a laugh that was more a sigh of relief, inhaling the calming smoke and grinning back at him. 

"Yeah, it's just impossible to find good help these days, huh?"

Handing back the spliff, Olive took another swig of her beer, smiling to herself.

"Yer tellin' me! Gahd, you should see dis fuckin' doctor we just hired, all she's done is drink our booze 'n sleep wit' our guitarist."

Snorting, Olive yanked the bottle away from her lips, hand smacking over her face in fear that the carbonated froth would come out her nose, but managed to swallow it down harshly, coughing as she did, Pickles' head thrown back in laughter at her plight. 

"Oh, fuck you."

"Been tryna get yah to, babe, but yah went back to Skwis' room 'nstead a' mine last night."

And there it was, the familiar blush that always managed to creep up on her when the drummer was around.

Hot breath scorched across her skin, facial hair scratching lightly against her ear as he leaned in, hand settling on her knee and squeezing. 

"Cmahn, baby. Let me fuck yah tonight. Prahmise I'll take good care a' yah."

A fresh wave of heat flared to her face, cheeks burning a bright red as she averted her eyes.

"Pickles…"

Olive barely had time to register his movement before two freckled fingers were looped through the ring of her choker, yanking her face towards the redhead and forcing her to meet his eyes, her own wide from shock at his bold action.

"Don't act so surprised, babe. Yah shouldn't be wearing collars like dis if yah don't want an owner ta come along and take control."

One look at his crooked grin, and Olive knew she was done for.

"Now let's go back in dere, get this stupid meetin' over with, and den you an' I are gonna have some fun tonight, ok?"

Dark eyes blinked up at him as she bit her bottom lip, and Pickles smirked, knowing he had her. 

"Yeah… ok."

 

.

 

Charles was beyond irritated. His background check and screening process was the best of the best, surpassing that of most governments, and to find out that such a large part of Olive's background had slipped through the cracks  (including two aliases and her birth name!) was immensely troublesome. Doubly concerning was that the only plausible explanation for this being that someone had erased key parts of her identity from every single database, leaving no trace behind, covering their trail so perfectly that even his skilled team couldn't find a breadcrumb. 

Just who the hell was this woman?

Salmusa… he would be looking into that later. 

But for now, he turned his attention to the door as Pickles reemerged, Olive following closely in tow, appearing much more stable than when she had fled prior, the pair leaving a cloud of marijuana stench behind them as they settled back in their seats. 

In their absence, food had appeared, a fully prepared plate sitting in front of each chair, including hers, and Pickles' eyes lit up at the sight, in full munchie mode. She wasn't exactly hungry, but knew she needed to eat something to settle her stomach, and began picking at her fried tofu, forcing a few bites down. 

"Ams yous really a robot?"

Olive sighed. 

Jumping right back in, then…

"No, I'm not a robot. I'm not a cyborg either, really. But part of my brain is mechanically enhanced."

Everyone merely stared, waiting for her to continue. 

"Its like… here, its easiest to just show you.."

Gathering her hair, Olive flipped the pink locks to the other side of her head, revealing the shiny, dark glass encasing the majority of the left side of her skull, edges lines with scarred skin. Tapping a complex pattern on the smooth surface, the glass lit up, displaying a language none of them could read in a soft green text. 

"Whoah, no way…"

Charles was speechless. He had known Axworthy Industries was rapidly pushing the boundaries in the field of technology based prosthetics, but this… This level of advancement was utterly unheard of, and on a whole other level. It had to be extremely experimental, and a shock of terrible realization settled in his stomach as he remembered the dark, but previously unfounded rumors of Alistair treating his adoptive children as guinea pigs.

This poor girl…

No one seemed to notice his quiet dread, as the band was abuzz with wonder at this new found facet of their friend.

"Why does yous have de computers in yous head?"

Sucking in a breath, Olive flashed a glimpse to the blonde, the first time she had made eye contact with him since the morning, his blue eyes still shockingly bright no matter how many times she saw them, currently filled with fascination.

Glancing around, she found them all to be eyeing her with eager curiosity. 

None of them were looking at her like she was a freak. None of them were making comments on her scars. None of them were _afraid_. 

Ok, she could do this. It was fine. Fine fine fine. Yep. 

"I… was in a bad motorcycle accident when I was fifteen. I landed on my head and slid a few feet on the pavement. My skull was grinded away and my brain was exposed. If it hadn't been for my adoptive father doing an experimental procedure and fitting me with the implants to replace my brain damage, I would have died."

The room went silent, no one had been prepared for that brutal of an answer. 

"Scho... how many people have you killed?"

Olive grinned a bit, just slightly. Leave it to Murderface to steer a conversation in a new direction when he noticed her getting awkward. 

He was sweet, in his own way, and much more observant than he let on, picking up on her social cues easily and always making an effort to engage her.

"A lot."

"Whatsch a lot?"

"I don't know, I haven't exactly been keeping track."

"A hundred? A thouschand? Cmon, rough eschtimate here."

"God, I don't know. More than one hundred, definitely, but I doubt it's been more than one thousand."

Soon, the rest of the band was joining in, shooting questions at her left and right. 

"More than a hundred? Oh my god. When did you start?"

"Sixteen."

" _Oh my god_."

"Dat ams so youngs…"

"Yeah, I know."

"...what the fuck are you eating?"

"Tofu."

"Ugh, _gross_. Fucking vegetarians…"

"Right, like that nasty hotdog is peak cuisine."

"So ams you eughh, connekteds to our wifis with yous brain?"

"What? No."

"Oh, cans you uses de googles in your mind? Ams dat why yous so smart?"

"Jesus, _no._ I'd never give google access to my brain, who knows what they'd do."

"Scho then whatsch the point if you can't even do cool schtuff with it?"

"I'm _alive_ , that's the point. And I never said I couldn't do cool things."

"Oooh, wowee! Like whats?"

"I can process information quicker and more efficiently. So like, night vision, enhanced memory, I don't have to sleep as much. Stuff like that."

" _Whoah_. Dood, yah can see in da dark?"

"Yeah."

"Everyone, everyone, please. Calm down. Let's, ah, let's not overwhelm Olive here. I'm sure she'll be more than happy to answer all of your, ah, questions later. But it's been a long day for all of us, so for now, I think it's best we adjourn."

Adjusting his tie, Charles turned his gaze to the pink haired woman who was surprisingly holding her own under the band's rapid fire questioning. 

"Olive, you and I will need to meet and reevaluate your contract tomorrow. This all... changes things."

Looking every bit like a deer caught in the headlights, Olive's head snapped to the manager, and, surprisingly enough, she didn't even need to open her mouth in her own defense as everyone rounded on him.

"What? Charlie, dood, cahmon, yeh can't just fire her wit'out askin us."

"Yeah! Jeschusch Chrischt, think of our _health_!"

"Yeah, Moidaface ams right, whats if he stabs himselves again?

"Toki, did you really have to bring that up…"

"Boys, boys! I'm _not_ firing her. But seeing as she is now going to be performing bodyguard duties in addition to her doctoral ones, her contract needs to be altered to reflect that," Bespectacled eyes turned to her, "Certain, ah, legal precautions, if you will."

Slowly, a wide, genuine smile crept onto her face, and it took everything in her not to squeal in excitement and pounce on Charles in relief. 

She wasn't sure when it had happened, when she had started thinking of this place as home,  but the thought of leaving Mordhaus was one that she never wanted to cross her mind again. 

They were going to let her _stay_. 

 

.

 

By the time everyone had actually cleared out of the meeting room, it was fairly late, and as the group was heading toward the rec room, a freckled arm was slung over Olive's shoulder, steering her in the direction of the personal wings. 

"Olives, Pickle, wheres am yous goin? Yous not gonna comes hangs out wit us?"

Looking over his shoulder to give his bandmates a smirk and a wink, the redhead merely said, "We got plans. See yah guys later."

As they rounded the corner out of sight, Murderface grinned, eyeing the expressionless guitarist next to him.

"Looksch like schhe'sch already over _you_ , Schkwischgaar."

"Pfft, I doubts it."

 

.

 

The heavy door to his room was barely closed before Pickles was pushing her against it, lips smothering against her own, stealing her breath as they melded with hers, facial hair tickling at her face and making her smile into the kiss. 

Pulling back, he pressed his forehead to hers softly, close enough now that she could count his freckles and see flecks of gold mixed in his green irises. 

"I wanna see dat tattoo a' yers. The full thing."

It didn't take a genius to realize his hidden command; he wanted her to strip. 

Giving a soft nip to her bottom lip, the redhead made a beeline for his bed, plopping down on the edge and facing her, raising a brow when she didn't move. 

"Yah always dis shy?"

Olive visibly bristled, scowling at him, "I'm not _shy_."

"Den stahp actin like it and take off yer clothes."

Huffing in indignation, she had half a mind to turn around and leave just for spite, but the dampness between her legs, along with her troublesome urge to prove people wrong, had her walking forward, slipping her flannel off and tossing it to the side to join the other clutter on his floor. 

The monumental difference in the state of Pickles' room compared to Skwisgaar's was so spot-on indicative of their personalities it was almost _laughable_. 

While the stark white, perfectly kempt, modernly decorated bedroom of the Swede showcased his persnickety nature, Pickles' was the polar opposite. 

The drummer was a total _slob_.  

There were empty alcohol bottles _everywhere,_ on every surface and littering the floor along side dirty clothes, barebones in furniture and decor,  unlike Swkisgaar's who's catered to a minimalistic preference, Pickles just seemed to not give a shit, the only stylist choice showing through with the ornately carved headboard and matching side tables. 

It was… kind of sad, if she was being honest. Definitely a reflection of his mental state, which was not a great sign. 

While off in her head in her psychoanalysis of Pickles bedroom, she busied her hands with removing the rest of her clothes; untying her boots, shimmying out of her skirt, yanking off her top, unbuckling her knife holster, unclasping her bra, and letting her panties slide to the floor, but as she went to remove her stockings, Pickles' voiced stopped her. 

"Leave 'em on."

"Oh. Ok."

The redhead had been smiling to himself the whole time she had been undressing, glad to finally see her naked, of course, but mostly because she was so… _unseductive_ in the way she did. The women he had become accustomed to spending the night with were confident, experienced groupies, who wouldn't hesitate to make a show out of being told to undress, maybe even give him a lap dance. But this absent minded nonchalance, like removing her clothes infront him was the most mundane thing in the world, was ridiculously amusing. 

"Yer real fuckin' cute, babe."

Olive blinked at him with big, dark doe eyes, and he smiled wider. 

"But I didn't do anything?"

"Exactly."

Her brows furrowed in confusion, "Huh?"

Pickles ignored her question, licking his lips, pink tongue darting along the seam as they curled into that cute side smirk Olive was finding herself to have grown weak for, his eyes raking over her bare form with rapt attention, the weight of his gaze scorching her skin with desire, and she couldn't fight the urge to fidget as they lingered between her legs.

"Cahmere, beautiful."

He motioned her forward to stand between his spread knees, eye level with her nipple piercings. Calloused fingertips made first contact at her expansive thigh tattoo, tracing up along the curves of the snake as it rose up her body, ending at her waist. His other hand mirrored the other's position on her opposite side, giving an appreciative squeeze before gliding up her sides to curl around her ribs, his thumbs ghosting over the wings of her Nekhbet tattoo with a barely there touch, causing a shiver of anticipation to shoot down her spine. 

Pickles hummed deep, licking his lips again, grin growing in almost childish delight as he finally gave in to the urge to grope at her chest.

"Fuck dese're nice, baby… I mean, all a' yah is nice, yahknow, but, like, especially yer tits, fucking perfect..."

Pressing the flesh in his hands together, he leaned forward to bury his face in her cleavage with a groan of approval, resurfacing after a moment to press open mouthed, lightly sucking kisses over every inch of skin he could find, switching sporadically between showering his affection on her left and right breast, ensuring both were fully attended to, hands continuing to knead them as Olive arched her back into the touch. Finally, finally he closed his lips around her hardened nipple, rough fingertips tweaking the other in tune with his tongue, tugging and twisting gently at the metal barbell.

"Pickles… _god_ , fuck."

Suffice to say Olive was a flushed, panting mess under his attention at this point, hands griping freckled shoulders for support, high not only on the weed but on the fact that _Pickles the fucking Drummer_ was worshiping her tits. 

It was _unreal_.

Pickles continued the delicious abuse on her sensitive skin, drawing sweet little mewls from Olive as he toed the line of overstimulation, and traced down her soft stomach with his palm flat against her heated skin, her abdominal muscles rippling under his touch, wanting to feel as much of her as possible before reaching his destination; the soft patch of dark curls between her thighs. He delved his fingers into them, groaning low in his throat as he lightly tugged at the hair.

Pickles loved a good natural pussy. 

With great difficulty, he managed to pry himself away from her nipple, now reddened and swollen and overly sensitive from his actions, and leaned back to grin up at her dazed expression, her dark eyes hooded, full lips parted and panting, a soft red flush starting at her temples and staining her skin all the way down to the tops of her breasts.

Man, she was a sight. 

"Ahhh, shit, baby…"

His grin widened, and Olive felt another wave of arousal course through her veins as he dipped his fingers lower to tease along her folds, touch staying to the sides and avoiding contact with her clit as he continued to smooth through her pubes. 

"Heh. Yer gonna look so god damn beautiful after I wreck you."

Olive's breath hitched at that, and she could feel her face heating viciously as her blush strengthened tenfold, shooting her eyes to the side, unable to maintain his gaze. He snickered at her flustered state, bringing his free hand up to tug at the loop of her choker(no, it was a collar now), forcing her to look back at him, his smile knowing, green eyes alight with amusement.

"Its rehl cute, yahknow, how yah get aff on being embarrassed like dis. How it turns yah on when I tease yah. How I can make yah blush fer me, make yah _wet_ fer me with just a few words. How I can see yah getting hot fer me around the others, and nobody knows but me."

Olive whimpered and squirmed at his words, fighting to keep eye contact, his touch between her legs remaining light and teasing and not at all what she needed.

"But I bet yah'd like it if dey did know, wouldn't yah? Heh. If every motherfucker in dis place watched while I made yah scream fer me?"

A calloused fingertip finally, thankfully, traced along her slit, beginning to slowly circle her entrance, coating itself in her juices which had been leaking down and smearing across her thighs, a low, wanton moan forcing it's way from Olive's throat as she dug her nails harder into his shoulders.

"Cmahn, babe, yah should know yah gotta answer when asked a question."

Pickles drummed his fingers against her swollen clit, just enough pressure to make her whine in frustration.

Olive gulped, hard, taking a shaky breath in an attempt to steady her voice and not plead like she so severely wished to. 

"Yes."

Pickles 'tsked' at her, pinching her clit lightly between his thumb and index finger, making her gasp and buck her hips.

"Yah can do better'n dat. Say it."

Olive whimpered, desperate to do anything to please the man playing with her body, to make him stop toying with her, too far gone in need to give a shit about her pride. 

" _Yes_ . God, fuck, _yes_ . I.. I want everyone to watch as you fuck me, as you make me yours. Just.. fuck, Pickles, _please_!"

"Heh, dat's what I thought. Such a little slut, ain't yah?"

She whined, drawn out and needy, as he removed his fingers from her, reaching around to give her a light slap on the ass, and began to remove his clothes, kicking off his sneakers and yanking off his shirt, then going to unbutton his jeans. Olive scowled at this, lightly slapping his hands away to replace them with her own, sliding down the zipper and tugging at his belt loops as a signal to lift his hips. 

Pickles settled his weight back on his elbows, raising his pelvis to allow his jeans and underwear to be slipped down his thighs, cooing at her with that damn smirk. 

"Aw, yah wanna undress me yerself, baby? So sweet~"

“Fuck you.”

“Heh, dat’s the plan, ain’t it?”

Olive deadpanned, and Pickles nearly lost it, but managed to compose himself before the atmosphere was ruined, only wheezing a bit with laughter, and tossed a pillow at her. The down-stuffed cushion smacked her fully across the face, and any effort to contain his laughter was ruined as she huffed and pulled it from her head, hair ruffled and face flushed. 

“Jus... just get on yer knees, babe.”

Giggling lightly, she dropped the pillow down in front of him, the silly moment having eased her nerves, and knelt on the plush surface, gently placing her hands high on his freckled thighs, kneading the soft flesh and spreading them further for better access. 

Well, the carpet _certainly_ matched the drapes. Pickles crotch was just as flaming red as the rest of his hair. And…

It was shaved in the same pattern as his goatee. 

Smiling to herself, Olive was about to comment on the... _interesting_ stylistic choice, but a hand threading through the back of her hair and pushing her head forward silenced that topic before it could begin.

"Cahmonnnn, baby. I know I've got a pretty cock, but I need yah tah suck me off before I lose my damn mind."

Pickles couldn't stand to wait anymore. He was hard, and ridiculously wet, and had wanted this for way too long(any amount of time more than a few hours was long for him) to wait even a few more seconds to feel her mouth on him. 

Blushing at being caught in her admiration, she leant forward, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses to his soft upper thighs, sucking a few dark purple hickies into his pale skin, breathy little moans escaping his lips. Glancing up to make eye contact, Olive finally focused on his swollen cock, giving a soft kitten lick to the tip, then flattening her tongue against the underside as Pickles groaned loudly, flopping back lifelessly onto the mattress, hand still gripping at the crown of her head as she continued to taste him.

"Fuck dats it baby… suck my cock like a good girl, just like dat..."

Taking his cock fully into her mouth and swirling her tongue around had him letting out needy,  broken moans, grip tight in her hair as he held her face to him, spurring her on. Resuming her earlier groping of his thighs, Olive hooked one of his legs over her shoulder, guiding his other up and to the side to give her better access as she sucked at his sensitive flesh. 

The drummer had flung an arm over his face, panting heavily as the woman between his legs continued to lavish him, her tongue working him over with a practiced expertise that he was frankly surprised at, given her general social anxiety and blushy reactions to his advances. Nevertheless, he couldn't deny natural talent when it presented itself, and he rolled his hips into her mouth, humping her face as he chased his rapidly approaching high, mind cloudy from the mix of drugs and booze and arousal. 

All it took was a precise fluttering of her tongue on the underside of his cock, tongue ring rubbing him in just the right way while she sucked, and he was gone, unable to control his thighs as they wrapped around her head, pressing her face into him, her tongue flattened and still as he rolled his hips against it, pelvic muscles quivering as he half-moaned half-cried from the shockwaves of pleasure. 

"Fuckin' _shit…_ " 

Pickles took a deep breath, releasing his thigh's iron grip as his legs slumped lifelessly on Olive's shoulders, and she panted, kissing his inner thighs softly between her shaky breaths, hands lightly tracing his hip bones, eyes trained to his heaving chest and flushed face as he allowed himself a moment to bask. 

Somehow, the redhead managed to sit up, retracting his legs from tan shoulders as he scooted back on the bed, grinning at her puffy, swollen lips and slick lower face. 

"Lay down, babe. On yer back. And lift those pretty legs up fer me. I wanna see yer sweet little pussy."

Olive blushed fiercely, but did as she was bade, hopping up on the bed and reclining back on the pillows shoved up against his cold metal headboard, gripping her thighs right above the knee and holding them out and up, putting her soaked core fully on display for him as he settled on the bed in front of her.

“Mm, fuck yeahhh… mind if I take some pictures a' ya?”

And Olive thought her blush couldn’t get any worse.

Ha.

“Oh, um...”

“Just fer me, of course. Prahmise I won’t show no one.”

Green eyes gave away nothing but intoxicated desire. He wasn’t lying.

“Um, yeah. Okay. Sure.”

“Heh, nice. Stay just like dat, don’t move.”

Pickles had a camera lying around somewhere, he knew, but he didn’t feel like going digging for it, so instead just grabbed his phone from the pocket of his discarded jeans on the floor.

Olive was sure her heart was gonna pound through her chest, jump out her ribcage entirely, roll off the bed and onto the floor right to Pickles. Maybe he’d keep it. Or eat it. She didn’t think she’d mind if he did either.

It was borderline painful to attempt eye contact once the redhead had settled back in front of her, phone in hand.

“Smile pretty fer the camera, babe.”

Gulping hard, she forced her eyes to meet the lens, attempting a small upturn of her lips, hoping he couldn’t tell how nervous she was.

But of course he could.

“Olive, _hey_. Look at me.”

Biting her bottom lip hard, dark eyes flicked up to meet intense green, and everything froze.

_'Click'_

The camera shutter sounded, his attention turned to the screen, and she could breathe again.

_God..._

It must have been a decent picture, because Pickles was grinning from ear to ear.

“Relax, ok? Yer fuckin’ perfect.”

Olive forced herself to take a deep, shaky breath as he shuffled closer, kneeling only a few inches away from her now.

The drummer flashed her a lopsided grin, then directed his attention farther south, his free hand smoothing up her thigh, his other bringing the phone in close, her breathing hitched as his middle and ring fingers slipped inside her aching core. 

"So wet fer me baby girl…"

The digits curled, massaging against her walls, and she nearly cried at finally having his touch. 

_'Click'_

But alas, his fingers only gave a few slow, languid pumps, just enough to make her want more, and then they were gone. 

And despite her best efforts, she couldn't contain a soft little whine at the loss of contact. Pickles just grinned at her, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, and lightly slapped her thigh. 

"Roll ov'r. On yer knees."

Thankful for the opportunity to avoid the embarrassment of facing the camera, Olive was quick to flip over, shifting onto her hands and knees, coming face to face with the demonic visage carved into his headboard.

"Now look back at me… shit yeahhhh, just like dat…" 

Olive gripped the sheet beneath her hands hard, and steeled herself as she turned back to eye the lens.

_'Click'_

"An' as much as I like it, I need yah ta put dat pretty face a' yers down."

Curling her arms, Olive lowered her upper body, resting her forehead against the overstuffed pillow, shuddering a bit as she felt Pickles' gaze heavy on her fully exposed core. 

_'Click'_

Goosebumps erupted across her skin as rough fingers trailed along the curve of her hip, his palm sliding over her left cheek, groping the flesh with a hum of appreciation. 

Tracing his thumb lightly along her outer folds, he applied pressure, pulling outwards to open her up, her sopping pussy pink and glistening as he snapped another picture, and she whimpered at the intimate view he had captured, feeling herself leaking more arousal down her thighs. 

_'Click'_

"Heh, good girl. You like being on display fer me like dis? Look how _wet_ your cute little pussy is, baby."

Pickles tossed his phone carelessly to the opposite end of the bed, and fingers were prodding at her entrance again, slipping in and stretching her nicely as she blushed from the praise. The fingertips pressed against her inner walls, caressing at her deliciously, thumb circling her clit slowly as she writhed in need, her pussy quivering and drenched from the erotic vulnerability of her position. 

"P-pickles… ahh oh my god, _fuck…_ "

The redhead was thoroughly enjoying the view of her bent over and submissive like this, able to see every tremble of her thighs as he fucked his fingers into her, her hips rocking back into his hand, her cheeks spread and puckered asshole presented enticingly.

It was a generally accepted, usually unspoken rule among rock stars; never eat a groupie. Not pussy, not ass, and especially not dick. 

But Olive wasn't a groupie. She wasn't obsessed with him, she wasn't sleeping around with any metal band that had half a following; she was his friend, and fuck, she had just saved Nathan's life. 

If any of the women he'd slept with deserved to have their ass eaten, it was her. 

With that thought, Pickles leaned forward, tongue flattening out, and licked a stripe from the bottom of her pussy to her tailbone.

And, oh, the half-scream half-sob of pleasure that cut through the air as she raised her face from the pillow was more than worth it. 

Trailing his tongue back down, he set to work to keep those beautiful sounds coming, swirling the tip around her rim, prodding lightly at tight ring of muscle, doing his best to remember how to do this right with how fucked up and out of practice he was. But the desired effect was taking hold, and Olive was rolling her hips back into his face and fingers, all coherent thought gone from her pleasure frazzled mind as Pickles added a third digit. She was whining and crying and begging and her muscles were taught, body quaking, mind and vision going blank, a hot wave of pleasure erupting in her core and spreading through her limbs, and she only existed at those points of contact with Pickles as he eased her through her orgasm.

"Jesus fucking _Christ_ baby…"

Those lovely fingers slipped out, leaving her feeling empty and cold, but then Pickles was flipping her spent body over on her back, raising one of her legs as he straddled the other, pressing his aching cock to her still weeping core and grinding down on her clit and she was lost again, head fuzzy with pleasure and weed and alcohol. 

Leaning over her, Pickles grabbed one of her hands, lacing their fingers together and pining it to the bed next to her head to support himself, his other still gripping her thigh as Olive coiled it  around his waist, her free arm wrapping around his shoulders to pull him closer, moans and cries and mewls spilling from her plush lips as he nibbled at her ear, hips rocking into hers with delicious friction. 

"Oh god _ohfuck_ Pickles _please_. ." 

Briefly, he considered grabbing the strap on from his dresser drawer so he could _really_ wreck her, but ultimately decided it could wait for another time. Honestly, the thought of pulling himself away from her needy embrace for even that short amount of time was unbearable; she was so soft, so warm, so _open_ to him in a way she had never been before, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping her grounded to reality, and so beautiful, head thrown back in unbridled pleasure, pink hair splayed over his pillows, that red blush dusting down to the tops of her jiggling breasts as he continued to grind himself against her. 

Yeah, no way he was gonna leave this for anything. 

There was one thing missing, though, and it was becoming more apparent as they were both approaching mutual euphoria.

" _God_ , Olive… baby, fuck... look at me."

She mumbled something that sounded like a 'no,' her head staying thrown to the side, and Pickles' hips faltered a bit in their rhythm. 

"Baby, _c'mahn…_ let me see yah..."

Whimpering, it took her a moment to force her eyes open, and another to make them turn to meet green.

"I…"

Her mouth opened then closed as she struggled to hold his gaze, floundering briefly, her anxiety winning out as her eyes closed again tightly, making up for it by pressing her open lips to his in a sultry kiss.

It wasn't what he wanted, but fuck if her tongue sliding against the roof of his mouth like that wasn't enough to send him over the edge, his muscles spasming, growling in her ear as he pressed his pelvis hard against hers, rocking them together as she cried out under him in her own release.

Panting, Pickles managed to roll his limp body off of her, flopping onto his back and latching an arm lazily around her to pull her to his side, neither minding their sweaty skin sticking as they waited for their breathing to even. 

Shuffling a bit, Olive chewed on the inside of her cheek in contemplation, feeling like she needed to address it, but still reluctant to do so. Wrapping an arm across his waist and hiding her face in his ribs, she mumbled an apology. 

Pickles scrunched his nose up a bit at her garbled words, his head swimming in the after waves of pleasure and his still lingering high. 

"What was dat, babe?

"I, um, said I'm sorry. Its just…  eye contact is really… hard... sometimes."

Pickles rolled to his side, lazily gathering her up in both arms, clumsily unbuckling her collar and tossing it the side of the bed, hand settling on the back of her head to cuddle her against his chest, legs tangling together.

"Don't worry 'bout it."

"I just, I don't want you to think that… that I…" she trailed off, blushing, unable to finish the thought. 

Oh. Now that was sweet. Grinning to himself, the redhead gave her a squeeze, his body tingling and head heavy.

"Shh, baby. Yer fine. Yah feelin better now?"

Oh. Had he done this to help cheer her up? 

"Yeah. Yeah, I am."

And she _was_. Even if the drummer pushed the limits of her comfort zone quite a bit, ultimately, he was still a strong soothing presence, and she was feeling much more at ease now than when they had first arrived in his room. 

"Cool. 'm gonna pass out, d'ough. Don' leave, okay?"

Olive couldn't help her smile as butterflies fluttered around in her stomach. 

"Yeah. I'll stay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please comment and let me know what you guys think! I dont wanna beg, but damn dawg I need that validation to motivate me for the next chapter lmao.


End file.
